


Beneath My Hands

by FrangipaniFlower, neverending_story



Category: Homeland
Genre: Advent Calendar, CIA, F/M, Love, Recovery, Syria
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:16:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower, https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverending_story/pseuds/neverending_story
Summary: Advent is over but not our story!: Chapters 10, 11, 12 & 13 are new





	1. The Harbingers of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Do you remember our "find your LJ friend" game sometime back in early summer? Many of us wrote possible opening scenes for S6, posted them as anons and had to guess who wrote the respective scene.
> 
> We took both our scenes (with a slight change) as the starting point for this fic, not taking any new spoilers into consideration, just using the ideas we had back then.
> 
> Carrie was in New York and Quinn's fate was not fully revealed back then but we had a strong feeling Dar could know more...

She'd honestly thought she'd never come back. She'd thought she'd never have to see that man again. To enter that building again. To pass the wall with the stars. He didn't want one. She'd thought that depressing memorial service, arranged by Astrid, would be the last time his path would cross hers.

She'd been wrong. So wrong.

She had mourned Quinn. Every single day. She'd thought she'd never be whole again. He had taken a part of her soul with her. The part that always had believed that he was still somewhere out there. Calm, in control, piercing blue eyes, glacier stare, probably with a rifle taking out bad guys. Maybe sometimes thinking back to that one night under the stars. If it hadn't been for Frannie she hadn't been able to carry on. 

As simple and brutal as that.

It was the twisted irony of their relationship that she'd actually considered to mercy kill him herself. Only then she hadn't gone through with it. All those writing about lights and beacons and then suddenly the ray of light in that room...she hadn't been able to go through with it, feeling how this was not her call to make.

She had spent one night at his bedside, holding his hand and begging for him to wake up, for forgiveness, for him to come back from the land of the shadows. She had cried for the man he once had been, had regretted that she had not used their short time in Berlin to push certain topics, to learn where he had been and what had happened to him to make him...like this...

She had told him how much she had missed him, how desperate she'd been when he had left for Syria, had tried to explain her life with Jonas to his sleeping self, had spoken about Frannie and her love for her, how right he had been, she was a gift.

She'd left early morning to get her stuff out of Jonas' apartment and had moved into a hotel room. She'd been back in the evening and he'd been gone. Sudden complications. She had never seen him again. 

A week later she'd received the notice of his death. Saul had come to tell her. With Astrid. And it had been Astrid's presence which had made her actually believe it.

She had kept it together until the small service. The night after she'd drunk herself into a stupor and had been determined to finish it. She had been sure the pills had been enough. But Otto had found her in time. Had arranged a private hospital for here, no psych ward. Had been with her through her rawest grief. Had reminded her of Frannie. A friend, a true friend. There weren't many of those in her life.

So she had started to regain strength. Had fought once more, this time for Frannie. The only reason to bounce back.

When Otto had offered her the New York's office directorship there had been no reason not to accept. When he'd renewed his proposal she'd told him she could never love him but would always cherish his friendship. That was enough, he had said.

The ceremony had been small, just the two of them at the city hall. There would be a larger reception in summer. As Otto was mostly in Germany anyway she and Frannie had lived in his Upper East Side apartment right from the beginning and now he tried to be in New York a couple of days each month.

They always had sex then, usually every second night of Otto's stay. If she was lucky he only stayed for five days, if she wasn't lucky it was seven or even eight days. To her it was a mechanic act, sheer physicality. No big deal and not too bad, boring at times but usually Otto was done quickly. They never slept in one bed though, Otto had his own room in the large apartment overlooking Central Park. Sometimes she slept with other men. But never when Otto was in New York, and she never brought them home, she never asked for their name. Her wedding band came handy for that, although she had to be careful not to be recognized. Otto was known within a certain community and so was she now.

She tried not to think about Quinn and of what they could have had if things had been different. He was gone. Finally he'd escaped the darkness.

But sometimes she saw him in her dreams. She could tell then how he disapproved her choices and how he silently conveyed he wanted her to live a life that counted and made her happy. But happiness, if she ever had been able to feel it, had vanished. Only being with Frannie gave her peace and contentment. And he wouldn't argue with her about Frannie, he'd be glad to see how close they were now, that she was sure about.

And once or twice she had dreamt of him being with her, talking to her, making love to her, breakfast the morning after, another scene in that dream of fragments was the three of them having dinner, she saw him smiling at her daughter, sharing ice cream with her. Those nights she'd woken up on a wet pillow.

And then, shortly before Christmas , Astrid had come. One evening she'd approached her in front of her office where Carrie had desperately tried to get a cab. Suddenly the slim, slender figure of the blonde woman had stood next to her, a hand on her shoulder.

They'd been for dinner and drinks and had met again the next morning for an early morning run followed by breakfast. Astrid had told her the news while running in the park.

Through some shady channels she'd found out that the coffin in Berlin had been empty. She had dug for a death certificate then but only found an american military one, signed by two doctors of Landstuhl Medical Centre. Carrie knew that certificate. But what Carrie hadn't known was that each death on german soil required a death certificate issued by german authorities otherwise no undertaker was allowed to cremate or bury a body. And according to Astrid's research such a certificate didn't exist. She'd looked in all files, at the hospital's system as well as the registry offices in the area. Peter Quinn had not died at Landstuhl medical centre, at least not on that horrible day in early May. They had mourned an empty coffin.

Carrie had had to sit down and fight nausea, unsuccessfully.

Astrid had supported her walk to a nearby bistro, had ordered water, coffee and some bread for her and had hold her hand. Together they had tried to get the pieces of the biggest betrayal into one picture. There was no way how Dar had been able to pull this charade on his own, Saul had been in it too, Carrie had been sure of it. The clarity and simplicity of that thought had struck her bold and devastating. And without using the newfound friendship between Astrid and Carrie they would not have been able to play it either. Carrie who had reassured Astrid she'd seen a death certificate. Astrid who had reassured Carrie not to request to see his dead body but to keep her memory of a Peter Quinn of the living. Carrie who had squeezed Astrid's hand at Dar's insisting on cremating him, being sure about how Quinn would not care about any of this at all. Saul who had pushed a star for Quinn. Dar who had given her a call every now and then to ask how she was and if she'd decided whether to use his money now, reassuring her it was all hers, pressing her to get a lawyer and sort it out. 

She hadn't been able to go into work that day. She'd excused herself from her friend after a good two hours saying she needed some time but had agreed to meet for dinner. For her sake it had been a week with Otto travelling somewhere in the middle east. She had made it back home and had collapsed right after her front door, a sobbing mess on the expensive marble floor.

That afternoon she had rewatched the video of the gas-chamber for the first time since May. Had seen him dying again and again, and had only one word: "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry."

But when she'd met Astrid in a small restaurant in Tribeca that night she'd found her iron core again, had explained her how there was only one way to find out. Which was confronting Dar Adal.

And that had brought her here on that ice cold December day. To Langley. Passing security and the entrance hall, passing the wall of stars. They had denied Brody a star but had given one to Peter Quinn, who apparently was still alive. Fuckers.

She rushed past Dar's secretary, courtesy had never been her forte, why start now? Dar sat in his office, tweet 'n turtleneck, oily smile, tea and donut at the ready and she felt anger and vomit rising from the pit of her stomach. No need for pretense.

"I need to know where he is."  
She had to give him how he wasn't even trying to pretend to have no idea about what she was talking about. Quite the opposite, he was at it right away.

"No." Brisk, stern, without even an inkling.

"You made me believe he's dead."

"After you nearly killed him yourself. Twice."

"Fucking come on. You. made. me. believe. that. he. wanted. to. die. You did that!"

"And you fold easily. Which only evidenced you were never worth what he was willing to give for you."

"I bet he would want to see me. He must wonder why I never came to see him. Six months. Dar! He must be desperate. Six months. You and Saul made me believe he's dead. I mourned that man. He wrote that he loved me. We could have...Dar, please."

"What makes you assume he ever woke up? And, you married someone else. Go back to your shiny new life, Carrie. You betrayed Peter, his faith in you and you betrayed your country. Go and live with what you did. Go and live with that sleazebag you are allowed to call your husband now."

But she got what she needed to get. Quinn was alive. Dar would never give her the patriotic approach in case Quinn were dead. Or vegetable. 'Go and live with what you did' was enough confirmation to believe he was alive.

She had a desperate urge to go for the fucker's throat, shove that fucking donut into him and make him talk but she knew better than to underestimate Dar. The plan had been to rattle his cage and now it was time for surrender.

She expected to have a team on her heels before she even left the building. And she'd never see them. Others would take over now. Astrid, Virgil and the intelligence mercenaries Virgil had bought in with a big chunk of Otto's money.

So all she had to do now was to start crying and leave Dar's office, apparently devastated, not that difficult, and to drive to her sister's house, spending a couple of days there with Frannie, silently mourning and enjoying some family time. Visibly enjoying. So she made sure that whoever was surveilling her got plenty of sightings. Playground, ice skating, christmas shopping, decorating the house with season's lightings, domestic Carrie. 

Otto arrived two days before Christmas and that was when things got a bit difficult as her cover required some public displays of affection with her husband. 

She hated to lie to him, he was her friend after all, but she and Astrid had agreed on not telling him until they were sure. She hadn't talked to Maggie either, and as Quinn was forbidden ground there was no danger that Maggie would stir that pot.

But they would find him. They just had to.


	2. A Beetle and a Fly

Sometimes when winter freezes the windows, they look like paintings. Beautiful patterns of death because nothing is alive anymore. Only a fly on the wall was able to escape the deadly clutches of the cold but it condemned itself into a life of imprisonment. Of eternal waiting. For the spring when it’ll be able to fly away again, or for somebody who will eventually kill it and ease its misery. 

The fly often moves from wall to wall, from corner to corner and sometimes sits still for hours and awaits for the day to end. As soon as the beginning appears again, it cannot wait for the ending to come. _He_ does that too. They are no different. Sometimes it lands on his hand. There were times when he didn’t even notice it’s there, and now despite noticing, he doesn’t care anymore. They live together but also in absolute solitude. 

The room is empty. Most of the time. All the time. He often faces the window although there’s nothing to look at. The sun is cold, the trees are bare. Unprotected and stripped of everything they once had, just like he himself. Sometimes he looks frozen too. Lungs produce no air, nothing moves anymore, everything turns into numbness and all goes quiet. Only that one estranged organ is still beating somehow even though everyday he pleads with it to stop. It often makes him angry that it wouldn’t listen. 

Sometimes he confuses days with nights but it still feels like there’s no point in counting. No point in anything really. 

The room is often unbearably silent. When he opens the window, or rather, when someone opens it _for_ him, he likes to listen to the noise outside. Or maybe…he doesn’t mind listening. This city never sleeps. Sometimes he muses whether she hears the same things like him. But she’s far away. Too fucking far away. 

He doesn’t remember much, but what he does remember, often hurts. Like a name or two, or a voice. Or just that one name, that one voice. He wishes to forget it, to erase the mere fact that something has ever existed in that feeble beating organ of his, the warmth he usually felt when she was around. When she was his for that one tiny second or two. But the more he tries, the more it rings it his ears like a bad song one can’t get rid of. Everything leads to her. Every single fucking thought. He prays for memory loss. Almost every single morning when he’s usually disappointed he has to go through another day. 

When it’s winter, it’s a different kind of silence. There have been many of them. Oh so many. The one when he was underwater. In a different dimension, in a different world far away. That was good because he wasn’t quite here back then. He often tries to remember something, anything. Maybe he heard sirens. Or maybe just that single one. Then there’s the silence of the corridors, of all those lost souls who, like him, stopped waiting and reduced their lives to mere existence. To mere acceptance of a fact. They are never going to be the same. And maybe they even don’t know how to be the same anymore. They lost their way and can’t return. Won’t ever return. 

He hardly sleeps but when he does, it feels like it lasts only a few seconds. He often wakes up after a very vivid dream and searches for a warm body next to him. But nothing is there. There’s only cold. The room is cold and he is cold too. The veins are already freezing back again, but the heart is still warm. He catches his breath and closes his eyes to remember that last image he felt and saw. He made love to her. Stroked her hair, took her with him. She whispered sweet nothings into his ear and he still remembers the taste of her tongue in his mouth. The sensation of her hair tickling his ear. The touch of a hand. How her skin felt beneath _his_ hands. His unconsciousness is torturing him quite well. And now she’s gone and he’s back to numbness. 

If it wasn’t winter and he wouldn’t sense the chilly snowy air in the room, he would’ve thought he had company. He would’ve thought the buzzing sounds belong to a beetle who got imprisoned in this emptiness and is crying for help. Maybe he will transform into such beetle very soon. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He spends the rest of the day wishing it would happen very soon. And maybe it has already begun. 

He soon realizes it’s his phone. It annoys him at first, then it scares him. He doesn’t want to talk to a living soul. It was a present from Dar. To stay in touch. _His_ words. Though he can’t remember if he gave it to him a week ago, a month ago, a whole eternity ago. Or just yesterday. The battery dies. Silence again. How fortunate he is. How happy it actually makes him feel. The beetle got silenced. Maybe the beetle is dead. _Good for him_. 

Maybe an hour has passed, maybe a year, maybe a lifetime. It feels like dark now. Somehow, he feels better when the sun is gone. Or when he just asumes it vanished. When he can just look darkness right into its eyes. Or is it still daytime? Winter is surely confusing. He’s so glad there are no thoughts that would bother him. The nothingness eases the pain. Like those sleepless nights in the desert. He often remembers them and they bring him solace. Because back then, he was alone too. 

And then suddenly, his brain cells betray him. Once again. Those fucking cells that keep bringing her back. But there’s no warmth now. He isn’t waking from a dream. He isn’t kissing her, his body isn’t shielding hers. There’s just the sound of her name. In his head. Unbearably loud. And he can’t make it stop. Unknown voices uttering it over and over again. A choir singing a lament he can’t run away from. 

He’s shivering now. The window is closed but it feels like it’s snowing in the room. He’s covered in its white blanket now. He thinks he’s going to freeze and he’s looking forward to it. 

And then he hears it. Far away, but getting very close to him. He hears her now. She’s that last remaining siren always there. Always there to lure him back to insanity. Or maybe back to life again. But it can’t be her. But maybe, maybe it _is_. Now the warmth seems to be slowly coming back. So he braces himself and utters, barely audibly - 

"Carrie?“

Nothing. He knows immediately he’s made a mistake. Sounds of someone breathing. Of course. Who else. 

"I was hoping you’d forget that name.“

Who would ever forget _this_ voice. 

_Yeah, me too_. 

"Fuck off.“

"Not nice Peter, not nice. I just thought..no one should be alone today.“

"Meaning...you?“

 _Go and have a dinner at a fancy place. Go and fuck off, honestly_. 

"Aren’t you glad? I thought you’d want some company.“ 

"Right. Merry fucking Christmas.“

Pause. Silence. 

"I thought you wouldn’t want to see her.“

"I wouldn’t.“

"Good. Good.“

Some more silence. 

His mouth starts to move. He doesn’t even know how but suddenly he hears himself talking. 

"She never…asked you..never tried to…did she...“

"Well…I guess she was busy. But to say the least…before..those months ago..she was sad to see you in that state..to let you go, I’ll giver her that. Devastated really. If that makes you feel better…“

"Fucking great.“

"Maybe she just blamed herself. Maybe it was guilt.…But you shouldn’t blame her for leaving..she needed to cut herself off. To start a new life…A weird move to marry that…what’s his name…“

 _Married. Married. What the_ -

"Ahh, my bad, my bad. Of course how could you know. I didn’t want to upset you so I thought it’d be best to wait if she tells you herself. _If_ she shows up at all that is. Which she…didn’t, so…yeah…like I say…maybe it was the money…when she lost her warm place at the CIA, she…“

"Would you just shut up, Dar.“

"Okay, okay. I hope you haven’t spent too much time thinking about her…it’s pointless really…“

"I don’t care about her.“

"She cared I know that she did but…maybe it’s for the best. Haven’t been in touch with her either.“

"I’d like you to leave.“

"I brought you food.“

"I’m not hungry. I just want to sleep.“

"I thought you _couldn’t_ sleep.“

"So I want to stare into this wall here.“

"I see.“

"So just…go and enjoy your Christmas dinner. I’m sure you’re busy tonight.“

"Fine. Merry Christmas, then. And charge your phone.“

He hears rustling sounds and then the door closes swiftly. Silence. Again. The room feels like a tiny box of matches. The beetle is left alone. Perhaps it's fortunate that beetles don’t dream about sirens.


	3. John Smith

It hurt her to see how Otto was trying to fit in into her family's christmas routine, being much more relaxed as she'd ever seen him, joking with Frannie and her nieces, helping Bill with the christmas tree. Here obviously they had to share a room but usually she used the first best excuse to sneak away and cuddle down next to her daughter.

But she allowed him to hold her hand while watching Frannie ice skating at the nearby lake, making sure she smiled at him, her face visible for anyone around observing her. They had to be somewhere, she was sure of that.

They went back to New York three days after Christmas and Virgil had someone contacting her the next day. His guy came as postman, delivering a FedEx box apparently posted in Germany with christmas presents for Frannie from Astrid. Carrie went downstairs to sign the delivery and he gave her a small envelope with a burner phone and a note from Virgil with the parcel.

Astrid texted her that night. Carrie had been right. Dar didn't leave Quinn alone over Christmas. He went to see him on Christmas day, after collecting a huge warming box from The Ashford's restaurant. He had taken a fucking Christmas lunch along. Good thing though as with that he had involuntarily told them that Quinn was awake and could eat solids. Four cars were taking turns in following Dar, Carrie had decided not to take the slightest risk of being made by Dar. So neither herself, nor Virgil or Astrid were anywhere close, the surveillance teams were people Dar had never seen before.

He was in a posh rehab facility in Maryland, a good 90 minutes drive from Washington. Virgil's guys had hacked into the files after Christmas and some thoughtful discussions later they were pretty sure Quinn was the patient in room 303, John Smith. Rehab from a massive stroke and respiratory failure. Unfortunately the clinic’s system didn't allow them to dig below the head entry without leaving massive traces so that had to do.

But now she knew where he was.

Otto left on January 2, apologizing he couldn't stay longer, ten days Lebanon. Frannie was still at her sister's, spending a couple more days with her aunt and cousins. She made sure everyone in the office heard her talking about meeting her sister in a nice hotel with a spa for three days, some sibling's time away from it all.

Astrid, Virgil and she had long discussed how they'd reach out to Quinn as they were sure there'd be only one chance. As soon as Dar would know Carrie had found him he'd be transferred or worse on a whim. Not knowing which state Quinn would be didn't make planning any easier but Carrie didn't allow them to assume the worst. In her logic Dar locked him away because he could talk and think, Dar wouldn't go such great length for a useless bag of bones. And for the first time ever, Virgil was glad to see exasperating, nerve wracking Carrie as that Carrie had been gone for so long.

After Christmas Dar started to call a new number frequently but the calls were never answered.

"He gave him a fucking Christmas present. A phone. But Quinn doesn't wanna talk to the fucker. But he can talk, Astrid, Virgil, he can talk. Dar gave him the phone because he can talk. Obviously more than gibberish."

"Carrie, it's a few unanswered calls..."

"I just know, Virgil, I just know."

She was pretty sure, at least during daytime. The nights were worse though. Her thoughts were spinning like a merry-go-round then. What if it wasn't him? What if it was him but he didn't remember her? Didn't wanna see her? Apparently he was alive but had never looked for her, never called, never sent a word. Why? She had an idea and that made it only worse. If he had been waking up only to learn how she'd used the life he had saved to marry Otto...surely Dar hadn't told him how he had made her believe that he had died a week after the Sarin and stroke. Or had Quinn agreed into that charade? No, certainly not, a week after that surgery there was no chance how he could have been awake enough to agree into that. But later? Had they told him? Or had they just said how crazy Carrie had moved on and married the big bucks? The power? There was no way how Quinn would know how much Otto provided her first and foremost with stability, an anchor during the toughest relapse of her life. In what stage would he be? He could eat and talk, would that be enough? What had Berlin done to his mind and soul? As if he hadn't been in a bad place already then...

She barely slept during those days, but lay awake night after night. Somewhere out there was Quinn, alone, and chances were that he had stopped wondering why she never had come back to look for him. Or even worse, maybe he had never expected she might even care. She had asked him to come back to her, to follow her voice and then she hadn't been there when he had needed her most. That thought always made her cry, usually in the grey hours of another early winter morning.

If it hadn't been Astrid who brought along meals several times a day, gently reminding her that Quinn might need a stable team rescue and a stable Carrie she'd stop eating, living just on coffee and cigarettes. And her meds. That she made sure off, she didn't skip a single dose. But Astrid fed her round the clock, quoting some strange german proverb about food nourishing the soul.

And even if it was him and he was relatively fine and willing to talk to her - what then? She'd cross that bridge when she'd come to it she decided, one cup at a time.

In the end they decided that there was only one possible way. Quinn probably was on a no visitors policy or even if not an unannounced visitor would raise suspicion and probably make a nurse call Dar's office. Therapists had access to Quinn but as he was in a hospital he highly likely got all needed therapy through that channel. Media wouldn't be granted access. But his health insurance. All agents were insured with the same company. So if this company would need a couple of signatures from John Smith...it was mediocre but Carrie was sure it would work, with some special features.

One of the temporary mercenaries, silently she kept naming them as such although Virgil insisted she should be nice, called the hospital to make an appointment for the next day, which happened to be a Wednesday. On Wednesday's Dar had strategic middle east council meetings at the White House. Inconvenient to miss these. So no risk he'd show up at the clinic that day.

Right after Tricia, a young IT specialist from Seattle, had made the call the hospital had called Dar and reported the call. Dar had then called the insurance company and the call had been directed into Virgil's temporary surveillance head quarter - where Tricia answered it and confirmed it had been her who had called and asked for the appointment with Mr Smith. Yes, just a few signatures, sure, she'd fax a copy of her ID card and employee's ID. The documents had photos of a dark haired woman in her late thirties. 

So the day before the operation started Carrie told her secretary her sister had to cancel the trip but she'd still go. The next morning Tricia left Carrie's garage in Carrie's car, driving to the hotel, in Carrie's clothes including a warm scarf and hat, half covering her face. Carrie left her apartment building via the service elevator, wearing a dark wig, a pantsuit and Tricia's fake ID's.

She drove to Maryland alone. At the clinic none of the others would be able to help her and she desperately needed some time alone to master her anxiety.

She had put two teams on Dar's heels but right now he'd still be busy with the burst pipe followed by major power failure in his house. He'd be lucky to make it to the White House in time. Although she felt no regrets about that, willful damage to property or not.

She arrived at the clinic shortly before 11 am.


	4. The Land of the Shadows

When he opened his eyes for the first time, it felt like trying to swim his way back to the surface of the dark depths of a wide sea. Or going from darkness to light, when the eyes have to adjust to that sudden and often a very painful change. Except it was the other way round. His body was severely damaged, but still his mind (or the functioning part of that mind) could just simply _exist_ , rest in a strange state of freedom and just give in. He doesn’t know if all the images he now remembers had really wandered through his unconsciousness or if he made them up during those sleepless nights when he came back again. He _was_ in the darkness but at the same time, light was all around him. 

Old memories and those he had only wished for, familiar faces. Sometimes it felt like everything had disappeared and there was nothing left. And _nothing_ had been a safe space to be in. But then, when it all vanished and he was allowed to return, maybe against the will of his troubled soul, he just couldn’t adjust to that new found darkness. Literally and figuratively, his eyes couldn’t adjust to those new circumstances. He had left the land of shadows and came back to just another one of the same sort. Full circle.

However difficult, not seeing wasn’t the worst thing about his new situation. It was the _not_ part that he has struggled with ever since the first day of this new so called life. Because it was _not_ life at all. _He_ was _not_. The only certainty being that he has turned into a shadow himself.

But what he had before, was _that_ life? No matter how low he was, or how deep those rabbit holes often felt, there was always a certain sense to it all. There always _was_ a reason, to all those fucked up decisions and fucked up missions and perhaps mistakes that could’ve been avoided. But it’s all gone now. Gone are the restless nights in the deserts, gone is the map of distant countries and distant cities, gone is Berlin he doesn’t remember much of, only that perhaps he already was a shadow even then and there. 

Now that he can’t see his present, he tries to see his past. He tries to picture all the places he’s been to, wanting to catch the nuances he had been oblivious to before, because he was engaged in something far more important. He wishes to fill the void of his days with these images, any images really, but he always ends up seeing some dumb and kitschy pictures, generalized rewritings of reality found in tourist guides and on wall posters. 

Ironically, there’s an image that keeps coming back to him, haunts him whenever he desperately tries to clear his thoughts, and appears to be the biggest kitsch of them all. At the same time it brings him solace because he’s almost certain it’s not real. 

He sees a face. _Her_ face. A moment in time, a moment of _in between_ , of living and dying. There’s something different about it, there’s that nuance, that exact change that surprises him and brings warmth to his heart. She’s looking at him with open eyes, with fear and longing and…maybe _that_ too. And this face, in this image he can’t erase now, brings him peace. Peace because she’s okay, even if he can’t make sense of anything in this scene. And then he’s gone again.

 _She_ ’s gone. Perhaps for good. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe Dar is right and it _was_ the right thing to do. He wouldn’t want her to witness all of this after all, to feel that she would rather be somewhere else. Or _with_ someone else. She _is_ now though. He was so puzzled by this new piece of information that he forgot to ask about the man. It doesn’t matter, she’s tied to him in a way that is definite and final. He isn’t even guessing names. Maybe he doesn’t even care, or tries to convince himself that it’s the case. Perhaps she went back to that lawyer, perhaps she met someone new. Maybe it was a crazy love at first sight and a happily ever after, maybe it was rational. 

There are days when he hates her for what she did. There are days when he understands it. The thought of them finally making it work isn’t in question anymore, he avoids this thought because otherwise it’d hurt more that is necessary and bearable right now. What makes him angry, or resentful, is that she had lost faith in him. The fact that she had given up on him. He wouldn’t want her to pity him, but he hates to think he’s _nothing_ to her now. Why wouldn’t she want to know how he is, or if he still _is_ at all. 

Since those bleak days other people celebrated as Christmas, since Dar’s excuse not to be alone during that time himself, he’s been trying not to think about her. His phone keeps buzzing until it’s silenced for good, and he knows all those calls are Dar and certainly not some other, romanticized option. 

Losing his eyesight made his body and mind concentrate on other senses; His new found and involuntary emphasis on hearing and touch and the intensity of it has often taken him by surprise. During these past months he noticed how the sun felt on his skin during the warmer October days, or how his skin reacted to a tickle of a fly or to a brush of an arm. Sometimes he remembers the feeling of a sand storm, of the chilly wind in the mornings, of his fingers gently tangled in someone's hair that felt like silk, of a pair of warm lips meeting his, of an ear accidentally touched by his exploring hand, of a face he wishes he could’ve touched more. 

Maybe that’s why people close their eyes while kissing. To get lost in the moment. To shield away from the world. To disappear in each other, in that darkness that is so full of light. He often comes back to a one particular memory; One of many or more...one of a kind. He replays it over and over to the point he regrets it because it almost physically hurts him. 

All those mundane things now get a whole other meaning. He muses about them for hours sometimes. Sometimes it makes him yearn for a human connection, some of it makes him feel good and some of it not so much. He thinks about all those moments when he had touched a gun or a sniper rifle, almost as if it was just _another_ lover; it makes him remember the lingering smell of blood that he usually wakes up to. 

Every so often during those hours he lays awake in bed, he listens to his own heartbeat and wonders if he’d be able to stop it with his will. He hears the quiet moans of patients and the whispers of doctors, the squeaking sounds of door opening when the nurse comes early in the morning, usually minutes after he finally manages to fall asleep. 

One morning he hears that sound again, although he’s been awake for many hours now and he’s glad that she finally breaks his train of thought. He can sense she’s someone else, perhaps new, he can almost feel her nervousness. 

She apologizes and gives him his medicine, acting as if he's someone who demands to be treated in a special way, but at least she acknowledges his presence, something that can’t be said about the others. 

He doesn’t talk, why would he, although he wants to, just to make sure that he still has a voice. Maybe to remind himself of the sound of it because he so very often can't remember.

Suddenly, she starts talking - in a nervous but a very pleasant tone.

"Mr. Smith, they’ve asked me to inform you that your insurance company insisted on a meeting, they need a signature from you.“

"I hope you told them to fuck off.“

"Uhm, well…I’ve been told it’s very urgent. But it won’t take more than a few minutes.“

"When?“

"Today, around eleven if I’m not mistaken. We told them you need to rest so we insisted they don’t bother you for too long.“

Something about this sounds a bit fishy to him and also it…maybe…strikes _another_ chord as well.

"Who’s _them_? Do you have a name?“

"Oh, it’s…they wouldn’t tell me, I think she said her name was…let me see…wait…“

" _She_? What does the woman look like?“

"I’m sorry I don’t know…I haven’t seen the documents they sent in but I can - “

"No, that’s…fine.“

"Are you…waiting for someone to come visit?“

"No, I’m _not_.“

She hears the increase of annoyance in his voice so she stops talking and awkwardly stands still for a few uncomfortable seconds. She’s heard he was much worse in the beginning. She can take it. So she breaks the silence and starts mumbling, trying to hide her nerves and be friendly.

“I _hate_ January.”

“Why's that?” 

“Everything is so bleak. It’s like..there's fall..and everybody is looking forward to Christmas, but then it’s over before you know it. And January it’s just…so plain and cold…nothing to look forward to…It’s just…just take a look from the window it’s so…Oh. Jesus. Sorry. I didn’t realize. I...apologize.”

She is absolutely embarrassed but for some reason this awkward mistake has made him smile a little. Maybe for the first time in months. 

“I...I didn’t mean to…God I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The sudden kindness of this usually grumpy man surprises her. She notices that when he smiles it makes him appear different. A little more...approachable. 

“What’s out there? Could you tell me?”

“Oh..sure. Well” - she comes a little closer and stands by the window. 

“It’s…there are trees..obviously bare but…covered in a white..a white..sort of like a second skin on the bark. There are several birds on the branches. Ah, they’ve just flown away. And…couple of kids out there..family members that come to visit sometimes take their relatives to our facility garden. Even in winter. You’ve got a really good room actually. Others have views to - oh..ahem, sorry..not that it really matters...There’s..a boy…he’s got a red hat on so it really shines in the white..he’s making a snowman because it’s been snowing during night so it’s…it’s actually - ”

“Not so bleak after all?”

“I guess not.”

They remain silent while she adjusts his bed. It's only now she notices the colour of his eyes. Blue. A wintery kind of blue. Suddenly she realizes how glad she is to be able to see the world. Even with its bleakness. She watches his empty stare facing the window he can't look from and it makes her feel for him. It makes her think what kind of a man he had been before all this happened to him. 

Leaving the room, unexpectedly even to herself, she turns around and says - 

“Can I just say...thank you.”

“For what?”

“I guess…just…you’ve put a new perspective on…”

“On January?”

“Something like that. And…I hope she comes soon.”

“Who?”

“The one you’re _really_ waiting for.”

When he hears the door closing again, he stands up from his bed and cautiously opens the window. The cold morning air hits him immediately and goes right into his feeble lungs, to the point it almost hurts. Out of habit, he closes his eyes and imagines Carrie and Frannie waving at him while making a snowman in that garden. Right in this moment, he makes a promise. After a few minutes of basking in this ridiculous image of utter improbability, an image that - despite all - spreads warmth all over his body, he’ll never ever make it appear again. Not even at the back of his mind, not even in the depths of his heart, _still_ beating for Carrie Mathison. Still. And maybe forever.


	5. A Few Inches Closer

Carrie approached the front desk, handing the nurse her business card as well as her ID, introducing herself.

"Mr. Smith is aware you'll be here today. Although he's not really feeling up for a visitor today, I guess."

"Oh, I'll be quick. It's just a couple of signatures we need. His", Carrie dropped her voice to a conspiracy mock whisper, "employer has been very helpful but to provide what Mr. Smith is entitled too we really need him personally now. Just a few signatures."

"Well. I guess he can do that. Although they might not match with your originals. It's hard for a blind to relearn writing. But well, you'll know this for yourself."

 _Blind_.

It was a good thing Carrie had her hands on the counter so she could stabilize herself against the wave of nausea she felt rising in her chest.

 _We did that to him. I did that to him. Maybe this is why he never got in touch_.

And she might have considered turning on her heels and running away. But she didn't.

She had mourned that man. Endless nights. His absence still felt like physical pain, the nights she saw him in her dreams the only relief she had. She had thought she'd gone through hell and back after he'd left for Syria three years ago, had relapsed and been hospitalized for three full months, ETC the only option to get her back. She had run into another life, hadn't set a foot on american soil for full eighteen months because she hadn't been able to bear the thought to set a foot on the street where he'd kissed her. But that had been nothing compared to the void which had opened when Saul had told her Quinn was dead. And never really closed since then.

"Miss? Miss?"

Slowly the voice of the nurse cut through the haze. Carrie found herself sitting on a chair next to the reception desk, the nurse taking her pulse and patting her cheek.

"There you are. Wait, let me check your blood pressure."

"No. It's okay. I...maybe I didn't have enough breakfast and then the drive up her. You know, I'm pregnant."

Which was a lie. Thank God, it was a lie. But it always worked with women in the early thirties, especially medical personnel.

"Oh, wait, I'll get you some water and crackers. You really should take care of yourself. It's not just you. You have a little one to take care for too. How far along are you?"

She opened a cabinet and gave Carrie a small bottle of water and two digestive cookies.

"I just learnt it recently myself. It was a Christmas surprise."

Carrie even managed to bring up her hand in a protective gesture above her lower abdomen and munched the cookies.

"It's our second. We have a four year old daughter."

_Just leaves the question who is "we"?_

"Oh, I bet she'll be so excited."

"She doesn't know yet. We'll wait until it's safe, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. But you'll be fine. Just don't skip breakfast, will you, dear?"

A few minutes later Carrie found herself in a quiet side wing of the clinic. Her ID card provided her access through two security posts, both staffed with one security guard. The corridor itself was empty. Four doors, three of them open. Two empty patient's rooms, one lounge area with two couches, a TV which Quinn probably wouldn't use, a small stereo and a small coffee table with CDs. One door closed. The nurse had said he'd probably in his room, last door to the right, she'd call and let him know she was coming.

"Don't comment on his blindness, don't thank him for his service, don't ask him how he is, don't offer help. Chances are you won't get your signature if you do any of these", she'd lowered her voice then, "it's horrible. We can't cure him, he should be in a specialized neurological clinic, there are places, maybe they could even provide better help, but the only visitor he ever gets...well let's just say...he's a lonely man, our Mr Smith...it's a shame. Don't expect him to be polite or up for some smalltalk. He is very terse and bitter. Depressed. Just indicate him where to sign, you might need to place his hand on the right spot, and then he'll probably ask you to leave him alone."

So now she was in front of the door. Quinn was behind that door. Quinn. She had to fight back tears. She had an hour, maybe even less. And no plan. Because everything she’d thought about had included Quinn being able to cooperate. Looking back now that had been stupid and obtuse because there had to be a reason why he still was in rehab. Virgil had tried to warn her, she realized it now, but she had refused to allow that thought to percolate through for the time being.

She wasn't prepared for this. Quinn. Blind. Depressed. Terse. Bitter. Doubt was creeping in.

_What have I been thinking? And what did I expect to happen now?_

A young nurse came along the corridor and cast a quizzical look. So she took a deep breath and softly knocked at the door.

“Yes.”

That voice. The voice she’d thought she’d never hear again. She felt her stomach heaving to her chest and dropping down again, her heartbeat accelerating, her pulse rushing in her ears. That, and a sudden urge to run away. To leave the corridor, the building, the clinic, to go back and pretend none of this ever happened. Or to rush through the door into the room and beg him for forgiveness.

_He never asked for me. Never reached out for me. Maybe he doesn't even know who I am. Or decided not wanting to see me. This might be the last time I see him. He might resent me. He might ask me to leave. Maybe he wanted me to believe he was dead._

“Yes. Come in.”

His voice. Controlled impatience.

The nurse again, coming closer.

So she opens the door and slips in, softly closing it behind her. 

He sits on his bed by the window, rays of cold winter sun illuminating the room, next to a table with a plastic cup of water and a pill dispenser. An empty breakfast tray. He has lost weight, his hair is a bit longer, dark sweatpants and a dark woolen jumper. Apparently freshly shaved, the pretty nurse maybe. His hands rest on the tabletop, next to a call button. He turns his head towards the door as she enters, it makes her hesitate, for a second she thinks, he’ll make a snarky sardonic comment now and - but then she realizes he can't see her. 

_How vulnerable he must feel._

Her hand touches her wig but of course he can't see that either. But suddenly she can't stand the thought to be in a costume, it feels like hiding, and so she quickly nestles it down, mind absently noticing that her hands are trembling.

His eyes are open but empty. No focus, no recognition. His eyes which told her so much that one night.

Carrie has to stabilize herself against the door jamb.

_There he is. Quinn. Alive. Seven months. Oh my God. Quinn. What did they do to us?_

“I can't see you as you might know. So I’d appreciate you speak to let me know where you are…..You're not mute are you...that'd be quite tricky to maintain a conversation...can we please just get over it? Don't really understand what this fuss is all about.”

She knows she can't stare forever. And she hopes he’ll recognize her voice.

So she steps further into the room, just a few yards away from him.

“Quinn...”

 _Thank you my dear brain cells, you little fuckers. I get the joke. But not today. Not today I dare you._

“So now we're talking. You know who I am. Did Dar Adal send you? Cut the crap then and tell me what's the deal here, really.”

 _Quite impressive Dar, hats off._

If he didn't know any better he would think...it surely _does_ sound like...No way, of course, no fucking way.

“Quinn. It's me. Carrie.” 

“No...you're _not_.”

_Stop it! Just...how severely is this brain damaged after all?! Fucking shut down then. Stop working then. Am I having a stroke or what?! And if you are...if you are...fuck what if you really are..._

“Quinn…”, it was so hard to say it, “you know who I am? I...”

_What do you think. This voice haunts me when I can't sleep. It...soothes me when I can't sleep...Damn it I wished to forget it so badly. Maybe I'm not awake after all._

He imagined this very moment too many times. How would he react, what would they say to each other. Even after he had learned the happy news from Dar. But the only emotion that's slowly building up in him, ready to erupt like a volcano, is inexplicable anger. He's ready to fire lava at her and it takes him by surprise. _Why now. Why all this conspiracy bullshit._

“Quinn”, it hurts so much, she thought she was beyond grief and raw pain but that wasn't true, seeing him alive but meaning nothing to him was even worse, because when he’d been dead she'd at least had the comforting thought that he once had loved her and now that is taken away from her and it feels like that void opens up right again, “please. Tell me you know who I am. Don't say you don't remember me. Please.”

“So you're working for Dar now? Did he send you?” 

“Quinn...” She's whispering now. He hears her voice breaking a little and desperately tries to ignore it before it breaks him too. 

“You're both playing me then? So..back at the CIA finally? Good for you.”

“Quinn”, there is so much to say and only so little time left, “I need you to listen to me. Please. Can you do this for me?”

 _Anything for you, Carrie._

There was a time when this was the answer. But now? He's not sure anymore.

“A nurse might be here any minute. Sign those papers. I have no idea what's going on and who’s in game. Dar, Saul, maybe someone else. They were fucking with us Quinn” she had to swallow the tears back, “they told me you were dead. You _died_ in Berlin. They gave me your death certificate. There was a funeral. They even gave you a star at that fucking wall. Quinn, I was there when they burned your coffin and buried the urn. I...I _believed_ them...and I am so sorry...I should've dug deeper...I should've never believed...and now I...I wasn't in a good place...when I thought you were gone forever…”, tears are streaming down her face now but they have to rush.

He hears an annoying ringing tone, it takes him a moment to realize that it's probably in his head. It's getting louder and he needs time. Time to calm down and regroup. But there’s _no_ time, just Carrie, talking rapidly.

“Quinn, I have no idea what's going on. But I am sure as soon as Dar learns I was here you’ll be brought to a new place and I’ll have no chance to ever find you again. So this needs to be our secret. I promise to be back. But I need your help. I have people helping us. Astrid, Virgil and some more. But it depends on you. There is a small park outside. You think you can start going there? Ask them to let you spend a few hours there in the mornings or afternoons? I’ll clad and will see you there in a few days. And I’ll find a place for you to go. A better place. But I can't hide you. Dar will find us. So when we leave from here you need to be prepared to fight with Dar and stand your ground. Not right away but a day or two later. I promise to come back, Quinn. But you have to help. You have to start going to the park tomorrow. My cover is mediocre, I won't be allowed back in here. But I will be back and find you in the park, three or four days from now. I’ll be there.”

He doesn't know what to think. The anger is rising in him but it's directed elsewhere. Not towards her. Not anymore. He hears the tone of her voice. Of course he does. More than ever before. Does he want to hold her now and never let go? He does. But at the same time, he wishes this wasn't true and the nurse would come soon to wake him up. This is fucked. So incredibly fucked. 

But maybe they can sort it all out together. Maybe….despite everything they still.. _can_ …

“Carrie, I….” 

The door slams and she comes in like a tornado. It's not the nice one this time.

“Excuse me, Miss, but Mr. Smith needs to rest now. We've said just a quick moment.”

“I’m fine. It’s okay.”

He has to try but already feels cold fingers around his wrist, undressing his arm, she’ll take his blood pressure, he needs to calm down, he can do this, he’s fucking trained to do shit like this, he can control his heartbeat, so he has to fucking calm down.

Carrie quickly wipes her tears when the nurse isn't looking at her and examines Quinn.

“Of course. We've discussed what was needed. Could you just sign those papers Mr. Smith and I'll leave you be.”

“Could you show me where exactly...please?”

The nurse steps back which gives him time, his pulse still must be in the 80's.

Carrie doesn't know if he's done it purposely to get her close or to help her maintain her cover and he honestly doesn't know that either.

The nurse is now looking at them both, narrowing her eyes. Maybe she's waiting for Quinn to snap and lose it. She's seen that a few times before.

Carrie is inches away from him now, he can smell her perfume. _If this fucking nurse wasn't here, maybe_...But at the same time he's also glad they're not alone. It's somehow...safer.

“Um...may I,” Carrie touches his hand and gently moves it across the paper. “Here.”

He feels that his hand is trembling a little and hopes Carrie doesn't notice. But it also felt like her hand was trembling too when her finger brushed against his palm. This long missed sensation has made them both shiver. 

If the nurse wasn't here, she'd consider not moving away from him at all. But she's being watched by another pair of eyes and she feels that her chin is beginning to wobble once again so she just says, whispering almost - “Thank you...that'd be it.” 

As she's walking away from him, each step further filling her heart with utmost longing and sadness that she has to leave him, she realizes how despite everything she was afraid of prior to this meeting, it has actually brought her a new found strength. She's ready to fight for this. For _them_. She's hoping he feels that way too.


	6. Anisah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NES: I just want to say this chapter is definitely NOT written just be me, all three chapters (6, 7, 8) are basically all written by Frangi with some minor contribution by me. AO3 is doing something I haven't figured out just yet ;)

She’s gone. Just like that. Was she even here? There's a lot to think about, a lot to process. But right now he just can't. So he retreats under his blanket, curls into a ball, hoping he can meet her in his dream, sleep a welcome and rare gift these days.

And she gives him that. That's new - Carrie doing him a favor. 

She comes to see him. They don't talk. She just takes his hand again, this time not letting go, and when he cups her cheek and feels her breath brushing over his palm, she places a kiss on his palm. She did that once before. That one night. A whole eternity ago. 

When he wakes up it’s the younger nurse again, touching his shoulder. For that precious moment between sleep and awakening he thinks it is her.

“Mr Smith. I’m sorry. But we have to take your vitals now and it's time for your meds.”

“What? Oh, yeah…”

He’s so fucking weak, since he's blind getting up always makes him feel nauseous, his brain is screaming for more information, for some orientation. It’ll pass in a few moments, he knows that now, but it's annoying as fuck.

“Your pulse rate was very high this morning. Are you feeling better now? How long did you sleep?”

“I don’t know. It's not that I can read a fucking clock.”

He regrets it right away.

“Sorry, didn't mean… “

“No. It’s fine. It was a stupid question.”

“I've crashed right after the other nurse left.”

“That was about an hour then. Your pulse is fine now. Which is...interesting.”

“Why?”

“Well…”, he hears it takes her some courage to go on, “given that you just blew off on me I should see that in your pulse. But I don't.”

That fills him with a ridiculous satisfaction.

“Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Sure.”

“You mentioned there's a garden.”

“Yes. It's more a small park.”

“Could you help me to go out there? Catch some fresh air?”

As far as she knows he hasn't left the room since he arrived here so this is progress. They've just discussed this morning to increase his antidepressants but this is good.

“Sure. Right now?”

“Yes. If you have time.”

“I have. Let me check for warmer clothes for you though.

He hears her moving around the room, feels her coming back.

“You have a parka and boots. Did you ever wear these yet or do you need help?”

He knows it's her job to do these things but still it feels like utter defeat when she's probably going to her knees and helps him to get into the boots. 

“You’ll learn to do that alone. There are training sessions available for daily life skills.”

He fixes his parka alone, it's not that putting on a jacket requires two eyes and a college degree.

“Let's go then. I’ll be on your right side, put your hand on my shoulder.”

She keeps talking and he’s grateful for it, knows she probably does it to make him feel less strange.

“The insurance lady…” she sees him stiffen and tentatively goes on - “It was so strange...I’m pretty sure she was dark haired when she arrived but the woman I saw leaving your room was blond.”

“You saw her?”

_Damn it. Carrie. Careful._

“She ran into me and my cart when she was leaving. She apologized but…”

“But?”

“It's silly.”

“No. Do tell.”

“She looked like she was going to cry. I asked her if she wants to sit down. But she didn't. She just left.”

_Oh Carrie._

“What's your name? You know mine but I only know you as ‘the nicer nurse’.”

“Ah, well…she blushes a little which he can't see. ”Anisah.”

“A good friend. That's a good name for you. Where are you from?”

“Syria. Well, my parents are. So you know Arabic?”

“I do. A bit.”

“We are almost there. I’ll open the door now and then it'll get chilly, we had snow last night. I’m back at your right side now and will loop my arm through yours. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why are you still here? Here are no specialists for your...situation.”

“I’m not expected elsewhere.”

“You should consider other options. That's what you should discuss with your insurance or that man with turtlenecks.”

“Maybe I should.”

“Here we are. It's a bench under a tree, next to a snowman. The park is empty right now. You sure you’ll be fine? You have your phone? When do you want me to pick you up?”

“How long is your shift, Anisah?”

“3 pm.”

“Mind coming at around two?”

That’s about an hour, maybe ninety minutes per his calculation. Given the fact that he already feels cold that has to be enough.

“No. Not at all.”

She's surprised. Just this morning the head nurse had a major clash with him and told them he was impossible. She volunteered to go in when the call button signaled he called for help. And now, he’s nice. Friendly, cooperative, actually maintaining a conversation. He apologized each and every time when his grip around her shoulder tightened. It's hard to adjust to walking blind, she can only imagine, but it surely is frightening. So she offered him her arm after a while and after hesitating briefly he accepted it and it was much better. She thinks it's not fair, she has such a rich life and he is all alone. She decides to go back a few minutes earlier and bring him a cup of coffee then.

She checks on him half an hour later. But he looks _peaceful_. At least more peaceful as she’s ever seen him. So she silently disappears again, she’ll be back at two, as promised.

Farid’s been teasing her last night, calling her good-hearted samaritan. But she knows he agrees that no single person in the world should be as lonely as this mysterious John Smith.

_John Smith._ So kind to her even though she assumes there's more to that sadness she's seen in his eyes for the past days. A man full of mystery but somehow still exposed. She wonders if it's just her wild imagination or if he really does know that mysterious blonde woman that emerged from his room and appeared to be crying. Something did change about him when she mentioned her. As she was looking at him, just a few moments ago, she wondered that maybe she's the woman he longed to see. Maybe they had loved each other in the past, or maybe..they still do. She smiles to herself at this silly thought and thinks she probably should stop reading romantic novels. 

_Peter Quinn._ Who's this guy anyway? _Who am I anyway?_ A name hidden from everybody apart from Dar and... _her_. It's been a long time since somebody has said it out loud. Who would've thought that it would be her in the end. After all this fucking time. The things she said though, he believes her. Carrie back in her fierce spy mode. Or does he want to believe everything she says because he...desperately...wants to...hopes that...she...maybe...still….She's fucking married. A week ago, he wanted to end it all, hoped that his own body would allow him the luxury, but now...now he just wants to understand what's going on. Maybe he'll pick up when Dar calls again. Maybe he _will_ try to go to that park. Maybe he'll feel the accidental touch of her hand again. 

 

___________________

 

Carrie holds it until she's in her rental car, manages to drive away, carefully maintaining her composure. She pulls into a small parking lot two miles down the road, puts the gear stick into P, turns off the ignition and then loses it. Joy, fear, sadness, desperation, anger, all these and so much more.

It’s about an hour later when she calls Virgil.

“Change of plans. I need you here. You and Astrid. The others stay where they are.”

“Carrie… how did it go?”

“If we forget about the part where I lost my wig and don't mention Quinn being blind - not too bad.”

“Quinn’s blind?”

Carrie here’s a static sound, and then it’s Astrid’s voice.

“Carrie, can you repeat that?”

“He’s blind.”

“Did he rec-... Damn.”

“He can't. He is blind”, Carrie’s yelling now, the morning clearly taking its toll.

“Calm down Carrie. Just answer my questions. Did he know it was you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you talk? What did he say?”

“Damn Astrid. Not much. He’s… not in a good place.”

I’ve been there myself. Down the fucking rabbit hole.

“Astrid, Virgil, we can't wait that long. I’m not sure how much he’ll be able to help us. And if my cover blows we’ll never get through to him again. I’d say we have two days max. Adal usually comes on weekends so we need to have him out of here by Friday.”

She hears Virgil sighing but Astrid will get her, she knows that. 

“We’ll be there tonight Carrie. But what then?”

“I’ll come up with something.”

There's a motel a few miles down the road. That’s where she goes, glad her fake documents provide her safe anonymity.

So she retreats under the blanket, curls into a ball, hoping she can meet him in her dream, sleep a welcome and rare gift these days.

And he gives her that. He's there, waiting for her.

When she wakes up at two a plan has begun to form at the back of her head.


	7. Old Acquaintances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NES: Again, we don't usually say who wrote what but I feel undeserving that AO3 states I wrote this by myself (I can't figure out why it does that) - so I need to clarify.  
> This chapter is all Frangi's. <3

**Hotel Baron, Aleppo, April 2013**

It's a few days since that German journalist has been shot. And he was lucky. He survived. 24 of his colleagues already died in this war.

But the disquieting and concern among the small international community, journalists, staff of aid organizations and very few intelligence people, suits him. Nobody pays attention when he settles at the small table in a corner of the hotel's bar.

His guest arrives a few moments later, dressed in a formal suit and white shirt, but no tie. Time seems not to affect him, or suits him, he can't put a finger on it.

"Otto."

"Dar."

"It's been a long time."

"Yes."

"Take a seat, my friend. Coffee? Tea? Ayran? I guess I could get some whisky too."

"Tea. When in Rome..."

"Sure. Sure."

Dar Adal indicates the waiter with a nod to come to their table and places his order for tea, nuts and baqlawa.

"How did you travel here?"

"I spent last week in Zaataria. Meeting with Kleinschmidt and the other organizations trying to handle the desperate nightmare there."

"I see. How is it going?"

Of course Adal knows everything there is to know about Jordan's largest refugee camp, nearly sixty thousand syrian refugees are there now which makes it the fourth largest jordan city. It's one of the darker circles of hell.

They have a friendly professional chat until they've finished their tea.

During breaks the topic after they got a refill.

"It's been a long time."

"My attention was elsewhere."

"I see."

"So, can I count on you?"

"Against your president's position?"

"He's a peace-striving moron. That Nobel award... yeah... the rebels will never win this. Nobody's talking about ISIS yet but we will see a lot more of these guys, believe me. So, as much as I think the guy's the biggest nut job himself the former UK ophthalmologist is our best shot."

"Weapons for Assad's troops."

"Don't tell me you suddenly got a crisis of conscience."

"No. Of course not. Whatever ends this horrible war..."

"For a philanthropist your measurements are... unusual...", Dar can't bite back a sardonic smile.

"There's an embargo in place."

"Costs don't matter."

"Good."

"Financing will involve Panama and Caymans."

"So the usual set up."

"Yes. More tea?"

____________

 

**A few days later, same place**

 

He hasn't seen him since he's left a few month ago, the day Mathison tried to threaten him.

But he would recognize that tall lanky figure anywhere, it's almost twenty years now and he never failed him.

"Peter."

"Dar."

"Have a seat. Are you staying at the hotel?"

"No."

"You should consider it. It's the oldest hotel of Aleppo. Lawrence of Arabia stayed here, King Faisal declared Syria's independence from the balcony of room 215, and Agatha Christie wrote the first part of Murder in the Orient Express in room 203. Even Charles Lindbergh and Yuri Gagarin stayed here."

"Impressive. The facts as well as your knowledge."

"I beg your pardon. I didn't even offer you a drink. Coffee? Tea?"

"Water."

"Fine. Sure."

He orders drinks and food and they have their _fatteh_ in silence. Peter's never been one for an enjoyable dinner chat.

It's after coffee when Dar looks at the younger man's face, well aware of the deep shadows he's seeing there.

"So?"

"Last AQI -- which renamed itself the Islamic State of Iraq (ISI) after Zarqawi was killed by a U.S. strike in 2006 -- began to bounce back. One of the factors that led to this resurgence was the Syrian uprising. In late summer 2011, ISI leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi dispatched operatives to Syria to set up a new jihadist organization. Among them was Abu Muhammad al-Jawlani, the leader of what would become JN, which officially announced itself in late January 2012. By November 2012, Jawlani had built JN into one of the opposition's best fighting forces, and locals viewed its members as fair arbiters when dealing with corruption and social services.  
Due to these successes, Baghdadi changed the name of his group from ISI to ISIS just recently. He likely believed that it was acceptable to publicly announce what was already known: that JN and ISI were one and the same. Yet this did not sit well with Jawlani -- he rebuffed the change and reaffirmed his allegiance to AQC chief Zawahiri, who tried and failed to nullify Baghdadi's power play. Amid the confusion, many Syrian jihadists left JN for ISIS, while Baghdadi himself moved from Iraq and established a base in Syria. ISIS also began to attract a growing number of foreign fighters.”

Which was his own cover in this fucked up mission.

“Therefore, contrary to the media narrative that JN merged with ISIS, the two groups actually separated. JN still exists, but the quick ascendancy of ISIS has apparently made it the more-dominant group for now. Further, unlike Zarqawi's AQI at its height, most of the ISIS fighters battling the Assad regime are Syrians, not foreigners. So, to cut a long story short, ISIS is rising. We'll see a lot more of them if we don't act quickly. We need more than just a few men waiting for a chance to take Baghdadi out. This is a Hydra.”

"Well, we do act."

"The independent rebels need more weapons. More money. More support. Troops on the ground. And someone has to take care of Assad."

"Oh, we will take care of Assad."

_Just not the way you assume, my dear Peter._

"That has to happen soon. He's contradicting all efforts."

"What's your current role within ISIS?"

"I might have direct access to Baghdadi soon. That's all you need to know."

"Good."

"Don't contact me again. I'll contact you with intel whenever I can. Otherwise no contact."

"Have a little faith, Peter."

"Have you heard about the rumours the Germans might be financing Assad's troops?"

Adal chuckles.

"The Germans?"

"Not officially. But there seems to be a channel. Weapons and money. Big time."

"I'll keep my ears open and will have a look into it."

_That was fast that he found a trail or heard a rumour. Damn._

"Have a look at the Brits as well. They are exporting Sodium Fluoride. For two companies reportedly producing cosmetics. A fucking lot of cosmetics if you ask me.”

"You think?"

"Sarin. Yes, that's what I think."

"I'll have a look."

"One more thing", Peter breaks eye contact which is unusual for him and so Dar's knows exactly where they are heading, "did Mathison ever ask about my current mission?"

"No, she didn't."

"Gotta go. Take care."

"You too, Peter, you too."

Dar wonders when he'll see him again. He is not expecting that it'll take two years. But he has no intention to bring Peter into a position which would allow him to dig deeper for the German connection. ISIS will concentrate around Raqqa and with Peter having a chance of access to Baghdadi this is where he'll probably go now. And this is where he wants him. He's too long in the business to choose sides in this war too early.  
Neither does he believe in an easy solution. Not with a president who’s not willing to take responsibility. The world hasn't seen the worst of Baschar el Assad yet, that he is sure of. But he’s also sure that there is no alternative right now.

________________

 

**Hotel Albergo, Christian District Achrafieh/Beirut, August 2013**

 

Up until an hour ago it had felt surreal. Somehow it still did. But running his fingers over her smooth skin while she was writhing under his touch made it much more real.

He still wasn't sure if it was pathetic, embarrassing or just another trademark of the unique - speaking for himself at least - friendship they shared.

It was a fucking cliché, coming - not home but _somewhere_ \- from another fucking war just, right after the obligatory shave and shower, to fuck his brains out. He’d known she’d been in Istanbul and had tried his luck, had reached out for her and she'd agreed to meet him for the weekend.

He was going to meet an Hizbollah agent in two days time but he'd decided he needed that. A break. From the work he did these days. Which was gathering intel within ISIS and trying to get closer to Baghdadi. Whatever it might take. And it took a lot.

So for the sake of his own humanity he’d decided he needed this.

She'd met him down at the lobby, waiting for him, wearing a white button through dress and high heels, her curls open, drinking peppermint tea. He’d tasted the fresh herb when he'd kissed her in the elevator, urgent and with a badly hidden want.

“Have a shower first, for God’s sake”, had been her first words, “I didn't flew in here on the shortest notice to get all kinds of bugs you made friends with.”

He obliged and when he came back to the room Astrid chuckled.

“Why dress, huh? Losing no time?”

He didn't answer, he wasn't even sure if he still knew the words for a civilized conversation but started to unbutton her dress, not even making an attempt to hide his desire for her.

The first round was hurried, messy, borderline rough and he climaxed before she was even close, feeling the desperate need to have her and to feel a connection with her.

Which brought them to the second round right now.

He was on his knees between her legs, bringing her off with his tongue and his lips, licking and sucking her clit, entering her with two fingers, stopping when she was nearly there, just to replace his fingers with his tongue and make her gasp and whimper and clench the sheets.

They would do it again later. 

She'd known right away when she'd heard the husky voice on the secure line - this time it was really bad. He needed a friend, when he called her like this, the closest to begging he’d probably ever done.

She knew better than to ask about Carrie. She didn't ask about his current assignment.

But she made him to take her out for dinner and later they did a walk along the corniche, overlooking the Mediterranean, finding their way through bikers, walkers and the vendors’ push carts, holding hands or his arm around her shoulder.

He managed to get a bottle of wine somewhere and they had that on their room’s balcony later, before they had sex again. Slow and unhurried, she was on top.

She didn't comment on his nightmares the next morning, neither did he. Nor did she mention the name he’d been whispering in the middle of the night.

But they had sleepy slow sex in the morning, he took her from behind, holding her tight, pressing himself deep into her, rocking them both into oblivion.

She knew he’d be gone when she would wake up again, so she turned, kissed him languorously and whispered “promise to survive”.

That brought her the first smile of their 24 hours together.

“I -”

“I know you don't make promises. But I am superstitious. That's what we always say when you leave.”

“Right.”

“Will you at least settle the bill this time?”

They both smiled at the memory of Copenhagen, their first night together, his cover had just been blown and he had no credit card, no cash, no chance to get fundings without giving the guys after him a trail where to find him in no time. So Astrid had covered his bill. Just because. She'd never regretted it.

“I will. You can stay until tomorrow. Enjoy.”

“Oh, I think the most pleasurable part is over now.”

He kissed her, a short kiss and she knew his mind was already elsewhere, getting into war mode again.

“Thanks, Astrid.”

“My pleasure.” She gave him a mockery of a bow, kissed him goodbye and turned around, diving into the pillows again, clearly hoping for another round of sleep.

She didn't see him again until he showed up in a Berlin restaurant about twenty months later.


	8. She's Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NES: Again, NOT written JUST by me, we wrote it TOGETHER and I have to figure out how to change this setting :)
> 
> End of announcements, ENJOY! <3

She's back at two, addressing him from a few yards away.

“Hello. Mr Smith. It's me, Anisah, I am back. I brought you a cup of coffee.”

“Thank you. Call me John, please.”

Names don't mean anything to him, but it's what people do when they try to find allies don't they? And she clearly is making an effort.

“Do you need sugar?”

“What - no, thank you. Black is fine.”

“I’ll hand it over to you now. I’ll touch your right hand, be careful the paper cup is quite hot.”

They sit and sip their coffee in silence.

“Can you tell me what I have? I mean, is there a diagnosis?”

“They never told you?”

“They probably did but I didn't listen.”

She looks at her patient, astonished, nobody would believe her if she was going to tell them back on the ward. So she decides to keep it for herself. At least for a while.

“You should talk to the doctors.”

“I’m asking you. In your own words. No Latin please.”

“I’m not allowed to access your file. So I can't tell you much.”

“Then tell me little.”

“Your blindness wasn't caused by the Sarin exposure, your eyes and visual nerve are intact.”

“How do you know about the Sarin?”

“I watch TV. I have a Facebook account. I am a Muslim.”

Quinn fell silent for a moment, his head dizzy.

“Let me walk you back. I think that's enough for today. Or do you want me to get a wheelchair?”

“No. I’ll walk.”

He gets up and again she thinks he must hate how helpless he is.

“Do you want my shoulder or was it easier when you had my arm?”

“The arm. I’m sorry.”

“Don't be. I’m at your left side now. You’ll get used to it. The first days are the most difficult. We'll do that everyday, I work seven days in a row this week, always early shift, so we can train every day. If you want that, that is.”

“Wouldn't that interfere with your other duties?”

“Oh that’s fine.”

“But?”

She sighs and he wonders if she’ll turn him down now. Suddenly Carrie’s request feels out of reach, what was he thinking. He’s a fucking blind, how is he supposed to wait for her in the yard until kingdom come?

“Being appointed to your room is not the most requested duty among the nurses, let’s put it this way.”

She’s surprised by the small smile he’s showing.

“So, I’ve been a jerk and now everyone’s happy that you volunteer? That's what you're trying to tell me?”

“Kind of.”

“I’m okay with that. Are you?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Thank you Anisah.”

When she takes him the next day he resumes to asking her about his condition.

“You said, my visual nerve is intact. So I see but don't process?”

“I think so. This is no ophthalmology hospital. Not even a stroke recovery unit. We do drug withdrawal and PTSD programs. For those who have enough funds to pay for it. We are a private facility, not government run.”

“Since when do you work here?”

“I just started this January. A few days ago. We moved here.”

“Who’s we?”

“Farid. My...boyf- no, fiance.”

He heard the smile in her voice.

“He just recently proposed?”

“New Year’s Eve.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Does he make you happy?”

“He does.”

“Tell him he’s a lucky guy.”

They’ve arrived at the bench and Anisah indicates him to turn around and lightly touches his arm to direct his movements.

“Listen. I’m just a nurse. A new nurse. But I was you I’d insist on seeing a specialist.”

“Thank you, Anisah.”

She sees that he won't discuss the matter so she leaves him, promising to pick him up at one.

A minute later he feels someone’s approaching him. 

For a second he thinks she's back and it makes him equally nervous and sort of happy. It's all coming back to him. Images flow through his mind. He already feels her arms around him and the emerging warmth this image causes. _Fucking stop. I don't need that right now._ He can't help it but he feels his stomach churning. He keeps assuring himself that it's nerves but he knows that isn't entirely true. _No fucking way those are butterflies._ But they are. _Fuck_.

He takes a deep breath and decides to speak up, the consonant “C” almost at the back of his teeth and on his tongue and then suddenly - 

“Wonderful. That's our cover story.”

He knows that voice. Deep and calm, always a hint of irony, covering the warm-hearted nature of its owner.

He’s lost for words.

“I’d hug you but as I’m fake-visiting my drug-addicted brother in law and you and I meet just randomly, that's sadly not allowed. Or would at least raise some eyebrows. Damn it, Peter, you know how much I cried at your funeral?”

“Astrid. I’m… It’s… “

“It's okay. No, it's not okay. So now you make me cry again.

“I didn't intend to.”

“I know. I’m just glad you are alive that’s all.”

“So, Carrie…?”

“Your girlfriend is kicking ten asses to get you out of here. Mine included. So don't mess it up.”

“Why did she send you?”

“Because her cover is mediocre and she forgot to clad with her wig again before she left your room. So much to her dismay we figured it might be safer if she’s not seen here twice.”

“So, your brother in law…”

“Yeah, poor guy. Sad story.”

“Anything else?”

“Ask for a consult. Wait, let me google you a doctor.”

She's silent for a few moments.

“Here. Ask for Amanda Bickett, from John Hopkins. John Hopkins is a name here, isn't it? She’s blonde, my age, and specialized on things which I can't pronounce with my German accent without making you laugh. Don't do it before tomorrow so Virgil can re-direct her phone.”

“And then?”

“Amanda Bickett will need to perform some examinations she can't do here and kidnap you. Don't be afraid, Peter, it's gonna be me. Carrie will be waiting for you.”

“Will she?”

“She will. You broke her heart, back in May. She completely lost it. She was in a hospital for a very long time. You two should obviously talk. But let me tell you just this: She's been moving heaven and hell for three weeks now to find you and get you out of here. But now you have to help us.”

“She… you spoke to her?”

“Every day, Peter. She's waiting at a small motel, couple miles down the road. She was desperately trying to come up with something when she came back from here the other day. This is her plan. I just jumped at the ophthalmologist thing. I got to go. I’ll be back. Amanda Bickett will be back.”

He feels an elusive touch on his right hand, and then she’s gone.

________________

 

“Let's go, we need to be very quick.”

“Is…” _Carrie_ he wants to say, but hesitates. 

But she gets it. She's guessed it even then in Islamabad. 

“Yes, she is. Hurry up now.”

They leave the park, him holding onto her, a sensation long forgotten...Maybe he actually never held onto her. They were always level somehow. Both of them equal because they knew what exactly there was between them. Well...almost.

The chilly winter air makes it difficult for him to breathe, and walk for that matter, so she slows down. She waits till he gets some air and looks at him, almost motherly. Thank God he can't see it. He'd hate that. 

“So...how did you do this? _Can you do this?_ ”

“I'm your doctor, remember? You're going to see a specialist in NYC. You're lucky I'm so convincing.”

“You're too good to be true.”

“Right. Always the charmer, Peter.”

His hesitant but a very earnest half-smile sends an ache to her chest. She cares. She still fucking cares. Their past emerges at the back of her mind suddenly, and it makes her immensely sad. Because, that man, that man she once knew, is gone. 

She wishes she could've changed it. That she could've helped him back in Berlin. She would have. Had she had the chance.

He takes her hand and they emerge from the gate. 

_____

 

She's nervously waiting, getting so fucking cold with each minute. Seeing them suddenly makes her heart beat faster. 

She almost gets out of the car but then thinks better of it and doesn't. So she just keeps staring, although not quite sure she has the right to do so.

They're both so tall. Seeing them together somehow….makes sense. Astrid has always been quite clear about her intentions and her feelings, after Quinn's “death” Carrie never felt any kind of threat that she could...that she would...but at the same time, who's Carrie to judge? They obviously have past. A very long one. She very well remembers the realization she had in Islamabad that there is or was someone else. At the same time, knowing Quinn still seems like eternity for her. He's just always been there...if not physically present, he'd been on her mind...in her heart even. And now, she just sees it clearly, maybe for the first time in ages. These past months, these past weeks, she's been always thinking about herself. How she missed his quiet presence, his understanding, even their arguments. The way they just...got each other. The way it felt when she thought she'd lost him. The way it felt when he kissed her. When he touched her face. 

But what about him? Maybe he doesn't remember any of it. Maybe he doesn't even want to. And he's got all the reasons to hate her now. Even though she thought he was dead, she still moved on. She's fucking married. But at the same time...move on from what? From Berlin where they had barely spoken to each other? She held his hand while he was slowly leaving her and cried floods of tears when he eventually did leave her, but he didn't see any of it. Astrid knows her feelings now but...she's never thought about _his_ feelings. How could she not.

She cuts aways from her stream of consciousness and watches them as if they were random strangers on the street.

He's so much more relaxed with her. Maybe that's what he needs now. Maybe that's what he wants.

And then she sees it, and for some strange reason she's afraid to acknowledge, her heart drops like a sack of cement.

They're hugging. Maybe she's reached out to him first, but he doesn't back away. Maybe it lasts a few seconds, maybe minutes, she's not sure. She feels tears forming in her eyes and hates herself for it. He doesn't belong to her. Yes, she longed that it'd be her, maybe for a selfish reason, because she's been dreaming about that moment for many months. To feel his warmth. To hear him smile just in the tone of his voice. To curl against his chest and just be...safe.

But maybe he feels safe with Astrid. Loved, even. And even if it hurts, even if the images of the two of them re-emerging from the back of her mind cause pain, she just has to deal with it. And she will. She promises she will because she just wants him to be okay. Even if it means without her presence in his life.

 _He's my friend. First and foremost. I'll try to be that for him. I can't think about me now. I won't._

She fights it, but it still all comes back now. Especially now. She wonders how she'd embrace him here in that park. How his lips would make her warm. How she would taste the chilly January air between his kisses. 

A tear drops from her cheek. She quickly dries it with her sleeve because they're coming now. 

___________

She lets go of him before he will let go of her, just that fraction of a second before. 

“Carrie…is she here?”

_Of course, that's what's important to him. And he is right. It's what he wants. It's what he needs._

“Just over there. The dark SUV. Oh Shit. Sorry.”

 _He can't see it._ She's reluctant to get used to that. To picture him with constant struggles, that man who always has defined himself over his abilities and not his inhibitions and imperfections. Even when there's so much more.

“It's okay.”

It's _not okay._ He hates it. Being blind, being exposed, being lost, having no fucking clue where he is, where she is, if she's watching him. 

Of course she is. _I would._

“What's gonna happen now?”

“We’ll meet our back up on the way. Carrie found a safe place for a day or two. All hell will break loose here soon so we have to fucking move now. And on Monday you’ll walk in to Langley and call Adal at his shit.”

“Carrie’s plan?”

“Kind of obvious, isn't it?”

It is obvious and that makes a surges of warmth rising in his chest, spreading into his ever cold limbs and filling his heart. Carrie just being Carrie.

He hears a car door closing with a soft click, it suddenly makes a lot of sense to him that there are sound designers figuring this kind of shit out, he appreciates it, that's for sure, and then he feels movement to his right.

There she is.

“Here. The keys. I’ll monitor the surroundings for any tailing cars. Let's move.”

_Carrie._

A door gets opened, Astrid’s hand gently pushing him in that direction, he gets in and is suddenly feeling dizzy and tired.

_Talk to me._

"Quinn.”

“Hey.”

He tries to buckle his seat belt but his trembling fingers betray him and so he feels her leaning in, smells a hint of shampoo, an elusive touch of her hair brushing along his jawline.

She's not sure. But there has been a tiny moment when his hand almost touched hers.


	9. Distant Skies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, we both wrote this, not just me like it says.

The window is open so he feels the cold breeze tickling his face. He closes his eyes to enhance that sensation, even though it’s a reflex from his previous existence and not a reverse miracle. The darkness won’t make him see the light.

She’s watching the road but she’s watching _him_ too. It’s hard to look at him though, the emptiness she sees in his eyes hurts her. The don’t talk for the majority of the drive. His thoughts circle around all the events of the past days. Astrid. And her. Of course her too. He can’t fathom the reason why she’s doing all this. He doesn’t want to. There are moments when he secretly wishes they had an accident or just…vanished so they don’t ever manage to arrive to that unknown destination he’s absolutely terrified of. It’s cruel but the thought of it morbidly calms him down. What’s the fear he can’t even articulate? Maybe the thing he’s most afraid of is that she really is doing all this because she’s in love with him.

 _Let us go now, my one true love_.

She keeps planning and hoping he will cooperate. She’s thinking about Franny and Otto and wondering if she’s betraying someone right now. She surely must be doing the right thing. It’s the only option. Of course she thinks of him most of the time. She could watch him all the way she wants because he can’t see her, but she only steals couple of glances fearing he senses she’s looking.

 _Let us go now, my darling companion_.

They stop once on the way and he is about to make a snarky comment about a potty break and “Are we there yet?” but then it’s Astrid’s voice, a whispered “Bye and don't fuck it up” and a kiss on his cheek, doors opening and closing and then he thinks he’s alone with her. She has difficulties to start the engine. It fills him with a ridiculous satisfaction.

When they divert from the main road he suddenly breaks the silence.

„Where is it that we’re going?“

„A safe house. Not a real one but for the moment it is safe.“

„If I didn’t know you I’d thought you’re gonna do something illegal.“

Sarcasm?

„Well it’s…couldn’t think of a better place where to go in this situation.“

After fifteen minutes of a bumpy ride on a narrow road where even one car is taking too much space, they finally arrive.

„So what is this, your weekend spa place?“

„It’s Otto’s lake house.“

„Christ.“

„Quinn. Please.“

„Is he here? Is he waiting for us with dinner or what?“

She’s silent and desperately trying to stay calm and not turn this situation into a disaster.

„Where the fuck is Astrid anyway? How do you know it’s safe out here?“

„I know it is. Working on it. And…she had other things to do but…if you miss her so much you can always call her.“

Snap. She can’t keep losing it now.

She’s closed the door with a swift move and subsequently realizes he probably needs help getting out.

Her demeanor quickly changes, like songs on the radio on the way up here.

She slowly opens the door for him and gently takes him by his arm. This time, the connection doesn’t cause shivers, just aching. It makes her sad.

They walk towards the main entrance. Everything about this place is beautiful if only this whole situation wasn’t so spectacularly fucked up.

When she helps him to sit on a chair inside the house, he speaks again.

„What are we doing here, Carrie? What is all this about?“

„I’m trying to connect all dots. Already have. Dar’s after you. After us both.“

„And why would he do that?“

„To isolate you,“ _from me_ she wants to say, but it sounds so cheesy she just keeps silent.

„We need to show him he can’t always get what he wants.“

„Ha. Like you, right?“

Yes. He’s right.

„I’m fucking tired Carrie. What are you trying to prove here…just…just…“

„I’m trying to…put it all back together.“

„Together where? Back where?“

„Back to….“

„Right…Back to where, Carrie…There’s nothing. This is all pointless. Fuck Dar for what he did but what do you want from me?“

„I….“

„I’d like to take a nap, can you please…fuck I feel like your patient damn it…can you show me where a bed is…not Otto’s preferably…“

They don’t speak at all when she adjusts the couch for him and takes his shoes off. When she leaves him alone and closes the door, she cries in silence. For the first time in weeks, she actually wishes for Otto to be here.

_____________

She hears rustling sounds and for a quick moment thinks it might be an intruder. It’s just him.

He moves slowly, trying to catch balance through the unknown space. He finally supports himself with the back of a chair. 

Seconds before she says something, he mutters - 

„I know you’re here. I’d like to get some fresh air if that’s okay.“

„Sure.“

Never she felt such distance between them. Not even when he was dead for her. Not even when she saw him in that room all alone. Not even when she saw him being affectionate with Astrid. 

„Are you sure you won’t be cold?“

Everything sounds so motherly and she knows he must hate it. She can’t help but be that way around him. She’s making up for something she owes him, too. Even if she pretends it’s not because of that.

„No I’m fine.“ _Thank you_ he's said as she was leaving. She couldn’t hear it though because she was halfway gone. Maybe it was intentional and he didn’t want her to hear that.

He wonders if there are stars in the sky tonight. He wonders if she’s one of them.

She watches him from afar, through the window. It looks like he’s sleeping. He looks peaceful. She’s counting when to bring him warm blankets. _Motherly_. Or maybe she just wants him to be warm. To stay alive.

 

Fifteen minutes she’s given him.

„Jesus, Quinn, it’s January.“

„So…“

„You can’t sit here, you’ll freeze.“

„Maybe that’s what I’m aiming for.“

„At least take these…“ before he can protest, she wraps two woolen blankets around him.

She’s ready to leave again, half-tired, half-furious, half-relieved that he talks to her and then she’s caught by surprise.

„Are you staying?“

„Me?“

„Yeah. You.“

„Well, I…“

„You can have one. Here.“

She takes the blanket and sits on the chair beside him.

„Okay. Ten minutes. Not a second longer.“

„Deal.“

She shivers as she wraps herself in the blanket he just gave her and turns her gaze upwards. The sky is starry tonight. The stars shine through the darkness. She wonders if he’s one of them.

„Why do you have to be such a dick?“

He laughs at that. Lightly, almost inaudibly but she hears that.

„Because I am.“

„Pffft“ she says. Just that. How he missed this exact sound that so very often annoyed him to the bone.

They are silent again. They listen to each other’s breathing.

„Five minutes left,“ she says, hugging her knees know, trying to stop her body from shivering.

„Call the gasman, cut the power out…We can…set out, we can set out for the distant skies...  
Watch the sun, watch it rising...in your eyes…“

„What?“

„Just remembered what it was. In the car. Anisah. The nurse..played it to me several times. Cave.“

„Oh.“

„Watch the sun, watch it rising in your eyes. That’s…“

„Yeah.“

„I miss that.“

„Miss what…“, she hears her own voice getting more and more feeble as she feels his cold facade melting like an icicle. 

„Your eyes.“

„Quinn…“

„And your face. Not sure I still remember what it looks like.“

She moves a little closer and takes his hand. She brings it to her face so he lightly touches the tip of her nose with his fingers. It’s so sudden and unexpected that he laughs at that.

„See? I still have a nose.“

He smiles. Tears form in her eyes.

„You do. Don’t remember it being this big though.“

Now it's her turn. What a lame joke but she laughs anyway.

„Go on. Feel free to…“ _insult me_ , she wants to say. Lame joke. But she stops because she feels his fingers travelling around the contours of her cheeks and it sends another wave of shivers to her body. Just a different kind.

When he finally brushes his thumb against her lips, she covers his hand with hers and gently moves closer to him so their faces are inches apart now. Without hesitation, their mouths find their long lost way towards each other.

__________

Yeah. A wonderful fucking idea. Why do I do this for you Carrie, why? Pitch black and can’t find these fucking specks. Right. Fuck. Ouch. Okay. Let’s see. Well, girl, you’ve got intruders on your deck…let me see…let me see…and these fuckers are….kissing? What? Oh. _Oh_. 

He quickly puts the specks down, horrified that he’s got to witness such an intimate moment. But at the same time…he’s kind of moved. Must be the cold he ponders.  
Suddenly it all comes back at him.

_I’ve never heard of this guy. Look into him, would you. I'm not busy, Carrie._

Well, well, you’ve looked into him yourself and just found…God, I think I’m gonna cry. I’m getting old and sentimental.

He sniffs a little and takes his phone out.

„Oh hey, it’s me. Me. I’m whispering because I’m on a job. Yep. She’s alright. More than alright, actually. Yes he’s here. What? No, no signs of anyone. I’m watching them right now. Well guess what. Try again. Bingo! I see you’re a perfect observer. Yes. Like their life depends on it. Of course I’m not looking I’m not a pervert. Okay. Wait. Listen, Max. I…I know I’ve always teased you being the younger one and all…but…just wanted to tell you…I…love you.“

He takes a glance at the lake once more just to make sure, muttering “sorry I have to, security” only to see them firmly wrapped around each other and still going at it.

Jesus, people, it's January. Go inside for Christ's sake. 

 

________________

 

**A country club just outside of Potsdam, Germany, May 2015**

“Dar.”

“Otto.”

“I took the freedom to order dinner. The roasted boar is delicious here.”

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence, both considering the odds which had made their paths cross again, unexpectedly this time.

“How's the… situation?”

Always so fucking cultivated. 

“The situation? Meaning a former black ops agent dying after being exposed to the world? Or meaning the attempts necessary to mend all the holes now and fix the aftermath? Or meaning the other ex agent, the one you took generously under your wings, messing up international affairs with at least two, no three countries in a whimp? The Hague’s not amused about a dead illegal immigrant’s body after they’d been observing for almost a year for leading them to...well, never mind.”

Otto watched the older man leaning back, regaining his composure, taking a sip of wine, an excellent white Bordeaux from his own winery. But Adal’s rant - and when did Adal ever rant - had told him enough.

“I asked you here for a reason.”

“Of course you did.”

Their entrees arrived, scallops.

They waited until their plates were taken away again by a silent waitress.

“Carrie. You won't harm her.”

“What is it that brings out chivalry in all men around Mathison? And why doesn't her spell work on me?”

“Maybe one needs a heart.”

“So you are rehearsing for the romantic hero department now? Believe me, that role is already taken.”

“You’ll take him out of the picture, I bet.”

“I will. I already did. But what's in it for you?”

“I’ll marry her. And you’ll guarantee for her safety.”

“Why would I?”

“Think your president might be interested in who placed a bet on Assad?”

“Otto, Otto, Otto. I never took you being such a fool. We’re in this boat together.”

“We aren't. Unless you got a pay rise I don't know about.”

Dar leant back as the mains arrived, ostensibly indulging in his meal and taking a sip from the Nero d’Avola which had been brought with it.

It was true, Otto Düring had unlimited funds. He could disappear from the world’s surface. So could Dar Adal. But Düring’s life would be far more comfortable than his. He’d always known that Düring was a risk. A volatile civilian. The irony that it was Mathison who made him struggle wasn't lost on him.

“What do you want?”

“Carrie’s freedom. And she's never to know that your agent survived.”

“What do I get?”

“My word.”

“Not enough.”

“Support for your next… mission.”

“That might be in the US.”

“Be that as it may.”

Dar raised his glass in a mockery of a toast.

“So, this is to the happy bride and the proud groom.”

_And so that fool is helping me to finally get rid of that blond nuisance - and is even throwing in a fortune._

 

 **About two weeks earlier, at the banks of Landwehr Channel in a busy Berlin neighborhood**

 

“Dar.”

“Peter.”

The two men sat on a bench and Dar offered the younger one a pretzel bread stick with cheese. His latest culinary discovery. He remembered those being a local bread specialty in South Germany when he'd been there in the seventies but these days they were available everywhere. 

He’d been surprised to learn Peter was in Berlin. He’d vanished from the radar for about eighteen months and Dar had just about to start to worry if he had been killed - although there hadn't been any propaganda video released so his cover had remained intact - when the Berlin station chief had contacted him through unofficial channels. Alison Carr, not Saul himself, although Peter Quinn was working with Saul and Saul was fucking with Carr. And suddenly Mathison had been back in the play too, muddling the waters as usual. A civilian now, working for nobody else as Otto Düring. Holy fuck.

So Adal had come to Berlin, the leaked documents being a perfect excuse, because he needed to figure out what was going on in Sodom and Gomorrha.

As for Peter Quinn the story was told quickly. He'd made a near-fatal mistake,  
of course because of Mathison, and was trying to cover that now, not knowing that he already knew through his contact man at the Russian Embassy that there was _something_ going on.

But Peter Quinn would be back to his home turf soon, hunting a target in one of the terrorist contaminated deserts and warzones of the world.

He’d always had a weak spot for the silent man with the melancholic air and determined grim. Sometimes he even wondered if the story of Peter Quinn’s _recruitment_ played a larger role in his sentiments than he would ever admit.

So they exchanged some basic information about Peter’s self chosen mission, not too much, given the fact they were meeting in public. He didn't need to know more. Peter had been working on his own for years now. He’d show up again, successfully, like a cockroach you can't destroy. Or he would fail and die, his body never to be found, his fake name not even a side note in his country's history.

_That's the life he chose. Well, the life that was chosen for him._

Over his musings Adal nearly overheard Peter’s last comment.

“What was that?”

“There's a mole at Berlin station. Maybe even two.”

“What makes you think so?”

“The leaked documents are one trail. But I have valid intel that a German located in Berlin is financing weapons for Assad with support of the CIA. It has to be Berlin.”

Suddenly Adal is relieved that Peter Quinn just chose a mission which will bring him as far away from the Berlin station as possible.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“I might learn more about it back in Raqqa. Al-Anbari has a very distinctive opinion about it and I guess he might be happy to share is knowledge with _comrades._ ”

And what started as a chat among almost _friends_ suddenly ends with difficulties for at least one of the men.

 

__________________

 

“We should go inside.”

“Yeah, we probably should.”

But she doesn't move. Neither does he. 

_It was just neurons on overdrive. Release of tension. Like fucking with that Israeli woman right after the Tel Aviv bomb. Because what else…_

_If this is the one second chance I get I better start using it. Fuck, he died, and now he's sitting next to me. Alive. We just kissed. He's close enough for me to feel his breathing._

“Quinn?”

“Huh?”

“You died in Berlin.”

_Way to kill a mood Carrie. Don't fucking tell me about it._

“Question of definition I guess.”

“For real. Did they ever tell you about it?”

“About which part? Jesus, Carrie, I was there. Just because I’m blind it's not that I’m fucking deaf and dumb.”

“Did you ever see that vid-, fuck, sorry, Quinn, I-”

_I can't do this. I just can't. It was a bad idea to begin with. He didn't ask me to bring him here. He never looked for me, never asked for me. And just because we kissed, that didn't bring us anywhere four years ago. It's not what he wants, it's not what he needs._

He hears the chair moving, a scraping sound, a blanket rustling, and then the warmth next to his right shoulder is gone. Carrie got up and is gone.

So he sits and waits. There's no way to follow her over the stairs up to the house. This is his reality. He's bound to wait, to get help, to be seen.

For a moment things were light. Touching Carrie's face, kissing Carrie's lips, feeling her hands. But -

“Quinn. I’m sorry. I suck as -,” she wants to say _nurse_ but swallows it, “host, I guess.”

“Can you help me back in?”

“You want back in?”

“No. But before you leave me sitting here alone again I’d rather be inside.”

“What if I promise to stay?”

“Then I’d prefer to sit here.”

“Good.”

“Christ Carrie. Sit down. Don't make it feel like a waiting hall.”

_______________

 _So she's back. Good girl. You can't kiss him like your life depends on it and then run away. How many years do we know each other now? Fifteen, sixteen? So believe Uncle Virgil, you want this. You need this. Him. He’s the one. Fuck, it's really cold._

_______________

So she sits. And feels a warm hand slowly covering hers.

“Carrie. You brought me here. We can't hide here forever. You said we need to talk. So we should use that time now for talking. If it's true what you said they’ll be tailing us already. If this is,” he swallows, “your husband's house, it won't be a fucking long stretch until they look into it.”

“It's safe. Just one dirt road and the lake. I have two teams watching us, well, the access points.”

“Believe me. We have 24 hours max, probably less. And I won't be any help.”

“You wanna leave?”

She makes it sound like “you wanna leave me?” he thinks. And why does he suddenly feel like in the defensive?

“No”, and it’s the truth, “I don't.”

His fingers are calloused, she remembers feeling the epidermal ridges, his unique pattern, when she applied lotion to his hands in the hospital. She spent hours touching and holding his hands then, thinking even she doesn't know his real name she knows his hands by heart.

But now he's touching her. His fingers are tracing the back of her hand, trailing the phalanges of her fingers, brush her knuckles, find her wrist, turn her hand, ghost over palm, a delicate touch at her inner wrist, she's holding her breath because even if it's just her hand it's so heartbreakingly intimate and close. 

And then his finger reaches her wedding band, he hesitates and breaks away.

“Quinn...”

He hears something in her voice that makes him wonder where this is going.

_She's not crying, or is she?_

“Quinn. You have no idea what, in Berlin, when you were, do you remember _anything?_ ”

_Like dying, suffocating, losing my bile, piss and bowels, while chucking up even when there was nothing left to lose? While all I could think was keep it together, she’ll see it and it’ll haunt her forever? Yeah, I remember that._

“Not much. Some of it. Enough.”

_I remember hearing your voice though._

“I- When I came back to the hospital one day, you were, you weren't there any more. Sudden complications they said. And then, a few days later, I was with Astrid, Saul, he came and had your death certificate. Telling me I killed you. I let you die. I saw you dying. And then I found you. And lost you again. Let it happen to lose you again. So Otto...he helped me...to survive. As a friend. And he wanted something for it, in return.”

Saying it loud feels horrible. Saying it loud makes it sound like she sold herself. And somehow she did. Not because she wanted Otto’s money or power or protection, just the stability. She sold herself in return him providing stability for her and her daughter.

“So you allow him to fuck you because that’s your mental asylum? Getting laid as remedy? Really Carrie?”

She knows he has to lash out. Rationally, she’s getting it, suddenly remembers Islamabad. And Jonas. Emotionally, she’s feeling raw, naked and abused.

“You’re not on morally higher grounds here Quinn. Who are you to judge? You _died_. And for seven fucking months you did never ask for me. Never let me know you are alive. Never questioned how I might feel. Or what Berlin did to me. They made you vanish, that's true. But just that you are blind doesn't give you the right to play the pity card. You have a fucking brain, a fucking voice and a fucking phone. Did it ever occur to you that I _suffered_? That I _mourned_ you? That I had to carry on? For my daughter. Not for me. While I thought you were _dead_. Because of me.”

“Because of _you_? Why would that be because of you?”

“Because I let you slip out of my guard. Because you wanted to die to protect me. Because if I had listened to you you’d never ended in that chamber. Because I didn't stop them from waking you up. I even helped them. And because I wasn't there when they took you.”

He can hear she's crying and feels a massive headache building up. This is so fucked up. He knows his next sentence will not come as half as angry as he's aiming for because suddenly there's no anger left. But what's left then?

“And you are a fucking spy, since when do you buy a lie just because Saul tells it?”

“Because I was at the end of my rope. Nothing left to keep me fighting. I lost you Quinn. It was utter defeat.”

Her voice is flat now and his brain provides the mental image of Carrie outside the Langley interrogation room, right after he went in to reign Roya Hammad.

He wishes he could see her. Talking never worked for them.

Suddenly he notices his fingers are still on her wrist. He feels her pulse, a constant drumming under her delicate skin. The beat of life. Providing warmth in a cold night. 

_Think of me as a light on the headlands._

Just now it's she who is anchoring him. Giving him something to hold on to.

A thought begins to form at the back of his mind, dots connecting, or neurons reconnecting and forming dots, a map, he can't hold the thought, because his fingers suddenly have a life of their own, gliding along Carrie’s hands again, her wrists, her hammering pulse, her arms, a soft sweater, find her face, trace her neck, her lips, her eyebrows, her cheekbones, map her face, he can see her, has pictured her face thousands of nights and now he just can't stop because if he's right and it's just that one night and who knows what's next, he's a mess, a _blind_ mess, and she's so beautiful and she came to find him, she's crying, he feels the streaks of tears and leans in and kisses her cheeks, she tastes salty, butterfly kisses, her eyelids, her temples, her forehead, raises her hands to his mouth and kisses her wrists and finally she is there, sits in his lap, leans in, whispers his name, over and over again, he’s feeling his own tears but it doesn't matter, now as he can hold her, breathe her, touch her.

________________

_Jesus Fucking Christ, just because you are blind it’s not that I’m blind. Get inside you morons because I certainly don't wanna watch what's gonna happen next. And, it’s far too cold for any kind of outdoor adventures. Yeah, I get it, undying love, long awaited reunion, grand stage, big time, but PLEASE inside. Hello, Carrie, you know I’m here. You know I’m watching you. Pleeeeease. Thank you. Finally. Good girl._

Virgil watches them separating and getting up, his night goggles providing enough vision to see them kissing like drowning while standing on the small lakeside terrace, Quinn’s hands going in..., God damn it, it's not what he wants to witness, and it's not the first time that he is observing Carrie getting into action with someone - _how often did I listen to Carrie’s nightly adventures back then?_ But this here is different and he just wishes them to retreat into the privacy of the lakeside mansion. And his wish is granted. Carrie wraps her arm around Quinn’s waist, his arm goes around her shoulder and then they slowly walk inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nick Cave  
> Distant Sky
> 
> Let us go now, my one true love  
> Call the gasman, cut the power out  
> We can set out, we can set out for the distant skies  
> Watch the sun, watch it rising in your eyes
> 
> Let us go now, my darling companion  
> Set out for the distant skies  
> See the sun, see it rising  
> See it rising, rising in your eyes
> 
> They told us our gods would outlive us  
> They told us our dreams would outlive us  
> They told us our gods would outlive us  
> But they lied
> 
> Let us go now, my only companion  
> Set out for the distant skies  
> Soon the children will be rising, will be rising  
> This is not for our eyes


	10. Where Have All the Flowers Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still don't know how to fix this but we wrote these chapters together, not just me, NES ;)

**Russia, near the Finnish border, February 2009**

Quinn arrived in the city after a long mission in Chechnya, first time flying solo for months. After leaving Julia and the baby behind it was a welcome distraction. 

Chechens had been joining the Taliban after 9/11 and Islamist militants from groups in the North Caucasus region had primarily fought Russian forces in Chechnya and Dagestan and targeted civilians in Russia in brutal terrorist attacks since the early 1990's. Al Qaeda-core in Pakistan had endorsed these attacks but hadn't provided much operational support. And he'd been hunting three of their leaders for eight months now, no contact to anybody except his one weekly report back to his contact person. 

He'd made his way back via Moscow, debrief there, and was supposed to leave Russia soon, his extraction point would be close to Torfyanovka. For a window of thirty minutes he'd be able to cross the border unnoticed, his contact person would take care of it.

He was going to spend two more days in in a safe house, debrief with a local station officer coming over from Helsinki who'd meet him there and then was expected back state side 24 hours later. And then - no idea. He wouldn't go to see Julia that wasn't an option any more. So finally there was nothing left.

The nightly operation went smoothly and so he was in St. Petersburg 30 hours later, having a shower, a shave and the first hours of sleep in a bed in many weeks. 

And too much time to revisit the last weeks and months of being after his targets. Witnessing what he witnessed. 

He remembered Oslo last winter. She'd said her next post was going to be Helsinki. Couldn't be to hard to find her. So he had called her from St. Petersburg, a phone box in the central station.

She'd been distanced and a bit cold first, had breathed a short laugh when he'd suggested to meet in Torfyanovka.

"A booty call? Really?"

"Call it what you want."

"Catching up. Why not."

She arrived in the evening. He remembered how her amused half smile had caught his attention when they'd met more than a year ago. She hadn't been interested. Or at least pretended to be. Thrill of chase. But she'd saved him a few days later, when circumstances had been very dire. Rookie's mistake and suddenly things had been very bleak for him.

She was a beautiful woman. Smart as fuck, dry wit. A few years older than he himself probably. He didn't even wanna know. They'd fucked each other senseless that one night in Copenhagen when she'd saved him after his identity had been blown.

She called from the only hotel in the village, a short walk from the safe house, and he went there to - well what?

She sat in the hotel's shabby bar, and raised her eyebrows when he entered. She had a cup of tea and a water glass which surely wasn't filled with water in front of her and the corners of her mouth curled upwards so her full mouth formed her trademark half smile when she got up.

So he closed the distance and kissed her cheek. She was tall, almost his height, so he didn't even have to bend down. Her skin felt smooth and cold and she slightly turned her head and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Peter. I'd say welcome back but this isn't the most welcoming place so..."

They sat and he had a glass of Vodka too, and then they had dinner, and he listened to her stories from Helsinki, winter in a nordic town, the large orthodox church overlooking the harbour, the humidity creeping in each and every bone, and the long summer when it never got dark. She was an animated storyteller, her voice was deeper than other women's voices, he'd remembered that, sometimes she used her left hand to put back a strand of curled hair behind her ear.

They were the only guests.

She talked about her work, something EU-related these days and made him laugh with her dry comments.

When the strand of hair came loose again he reached out and put it back behind her ear.

Her eyes were dark blue, almost black in the dim light. He hadn't remembered her eyes being blue. 

She placed her hand on his and didn't even smile but he knew it had been one of the better decisions of the last weeks to call her.

She suggested to go for a walk soon after and why not. They kissed for the first time as soon as they were outside, leant against the wall.

"Still wanna go for that walk or is it urgent?", she whispered and squeezed his ass but kissed him again.

She took him to the shore of the baltic sea. It was a cold night, more snow had fallen.

"Mare Balticum, place of many historic intelligence incidents, connecting the hanseatic league, place of wars and winter storms. And tonight, which is rare, northern lights."

It was beautiful, even he had to admit it was fascinating. He'd seen them a few times before but never during a walk as civilian. So he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, admiring the nightly spectacle illuminating the sky.

"Auroras are produced when the magnetosphere is sufficiently disturbed by the solar wind. How can disturbance and destruction be so beautiful?" Astrid whispered in his ear before she kissed him, long and lingering. 

They went back when it was too cold to stay longer and he smiled for what felt the first time in months when she suggested a nightcap in the shabby bar again. But he played along.

They sat at their table again, the only guests now, low music was playing in the background, and had another vodka each, their hands and knees touching every now and then. It was after midnight and for the first time in months he felt how he was relaxing. It would take a few days to come down from the latest rush of adrenaline, the thrill of months of being on high alert, but tonight was good.

"Let's dance before you walk me to my crappy dark room with a narrow bed frame and creaky bedsprings."

He contemplated her request for a second but why not. If this was how she wanted to play this.

So he got up, performed a mock bow, took her hand and pulled her closer when she got up.

She didn't smile when she tilted her head and raised her eyebrows and stepped closer, her arms around his neck now. 

His hands were on her back and he smelled her hair, a faint hint of cigarette and lemon, and her cool skin against his cheek.

She breathed a laugh when the next song started.

_Gde muzia ih day otvet? Ushli v soldaty i vot ih net. Kogda je vse eto poimut? Gde tsvety - day mne otvet?_

"How fitting...", she murmured.

"Weird."

"You know, in the Russian version it's not the young men but the husbands."

"Doesn't make it any better."

She leaned against him as they slowly moved, he felt her voice more than he heart it as she recited the English lyrics now with a low voice while they listened to the Russian song.

"When will they ever learn? Where have all the soldiers gone? Long time passing..."

He let his hand wander down her back, resting just above her ass, pulling her a bit closer for just a short moment.

"Let's go upstairs", he whispered into her hair.

She smiled when she detached, a warm shine in her eyes now.

The room was tiny and dark, the furniture old and shabby and the bedsprings indeed creaked when they fell onto the bed, sharing urgent kisses. 

The sex with her was great again. She knew what she wanted and wasn't shy to ask for it, and was generous with what she gave in return.

She was on top, her slender figure a sight to behold, his hands on her hips.

The bedsprings were too loud when they got faster and so she laughed, bending down and kissing him.

"I'm sorry but I guess we need to make some adjustments here. We don't want an international crisis because we disturb the owners' sleep."

And with that she left him, got up and leant with her back against the wall, her white silhouette contrasting the dark brown of the cracked wallpaper. 

He stepped close and lifted her up, hands around her buttocks and let her sink down on him, while she closed her legs around his waist.

They fucked there against the wall, she bit into his shoulder when she came, and they fell onto the bed again afterwards, covered with a sheen of sweat. 

"Let's get inventive", she smiled when they turned shortly after and the springs screeched again, "there's a chair over there."

He was about to sit down and take her in his lap when she chuckled and went down on her knees, between his legs.

"I thought you ordered me here to have some fun."

"I didn't order... fuck...", and then he was done talking for a while because she took him in her mouth, deep and wet, and sucked and licked, and all he could do was to gasp and lean back and to allow himself to dissolve into pleasure.

He came with his left hand tangled into her hair at the back of her head when she added grazing teeth, and pulled her in his lap as soon as he could move again. 

"Fuck those bedsprings."

He got up and gently put her down on the mattress, looming over her, and she laughed, a warm and dulcet sound.

"You sure you can do it right away again?"

"You said let's get inventive."

And that was what he did then, quite satisfied when she soon was too far down the road to frenzy to consider any squeaking bedsprings.

It was in the middle of the night when she pulled the thin blanket over both of them which he took as an indicator he was allowed to stay and to spend the night with her.

It was a fucking cliché but he liked that they shared a cigarette in bed.

"I'm afraid they don't do room service and there's no minibar so no drink with the cigarette."

She took the cigarette from his hand and inhaled.

"When's your extraction?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"Any debriefing scheduled til then?"

"Not tomorrow."

"Well, then, let's sleep two or three hours and then I'll take you to Helsinki."

"I can't cross the border, no passport."

"I brought one. And my car is diplomatic service, so we might not get checked too thoroughly anyway. So if your agency won't report you awol we're fine."

"They won't."

"Good. So how about a change of plan? Shower now and then we leave and have breakfast in Helsinki. It's a three hours drive and I know where to get the best pickled herring."

Breakfast in Helsinki then. He liked the idea.

They left when it was still pitch dark, the border opened at 5 and it didn't take them long until they were on the empty road through endless finnish forests.

They arrived shortly after sunrise, a bright cold winter day. When they walked from the parking garage to the market square next to the harbour he thought that the city was the right place for Astrid: crisp and fresh and bright.

She took him to the Uspenski Cathedral after breakfast, the largest orthodox church in Western Europe. Then she showed him some of the modern architecture, a bookstore with a white marble interior designed by an architect names Alvar Aalto, and one of the most impressive buildings he ever saw - a church which was built into a natural bedrock. He told her about similar structures, though much smaller, in Jordan.

After lunch in a small café she took him to her place, a small apartment with large windows, overviewing the harbour and the baltic sea.

They fucked against the kitchen counter before they even had coffee, he embraced her from behind when she was about to start the machine, his voice suddenly hoarse, whispering coffee could wait for a while.

She lead him to her bedroom afterwards, they had coffee there in bed, and then he turned her on her back and explored her body anew, for the first time since they met yesterday with time and patience.

She watched him, never closed her eyes, not until he settled between her legs, kissed the inner side of her thighs, slowly trailing upwards, his lips and tongue finding her centre.

He waited her shivers out when she came, staying with her, adding some more gentle laps of his tongue around her clit, until she relaxed and breathed a mirthful laugh.

"And I bet now you want to fuck me again."

"Exactly."

"So I'm all relaxed and pliant and you can have me for your own pleasure", Astrid teased, her pupils still dilated, which he noticed but didn't comment. 

"That was kind of the idea", he smiled and settled next to her, kissing her shoulder, "but I'll make it your worthwhile."

"Well then... I'm all yours..."

It was a slow bout, long kisses, her hands around his ass, and when he felt he was very close he stopped for a moment to look at her, and then felt his orgasm building up at the base of his spine when she tilted her hips upwards and pulled him in for another kiss, her fingertips slowly scratching along his spine.

They slept for two hours then and his last thought was that - except with Julia - he'd always managed to avoid that, the afterwards.

"Ever thought about getting out again?", Astrid whispered just before he drifted off.

"Every day."

_________

 

"What are you waiting for?"

They were having dinner and she'd drive him back afterwards.

"I will get out. Soon."

"It's not easy, huh?"

"No, it's not. But I'll quit."

"And then?"

His brain supplied a fleeting image of Julia and the baby. Of Dar Adal. Of his team. Of events all those years back which had -

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"You alright?"

"Yes. I am. And I'll get out."

__________

 

She drove him back late at night. He left at the border, after a kiss on her cheek, wondering if he'd ever see her again.

Two days later he was back stateside. Seven days later he was on his way to Caracas.


	11. Beneath My Hands

Carrie let go of him for a brief moment to find the key in the pocket of her cardigan, Quinn heard the door unlatching and opening, and then she took his hand and lead him inside, closing and locking the door behind them, he heard the bolts clicking in place.

There was a moment silence and he pictured her looking at him, hoped she was smiling, tried to remember the way to the foldable couch which had been his bed for the nap earlier.

But she lead him into the other direction, opened another door, the air in that room was cool and a little damp, and then he felt her hand touching his cheek.

"Quinn."

Just his name. And so much more. Pain. Fear. Grief. Maybe relief and something else.

So he reached out for the hand on his face, covering it with his, searching and finding her with his other arm, pulling her close, holding her, breathing her in, burying his face in her hair, feeling her body pressed against his chest.

He felt her shoulders shaking, heard the muffled sobs, wished he could erase and ease her pain.

But he couldn't. Nobody can turn back time and they can't go back to the crossroads which made them end up here.

So he just held her, both arms around her now, and she felt better than in ages. And yet so desperate and broken. Tired. Exhausted. Overwhelmed by her grief and relief.

She couldn't stop the tears, she couldn't let go of him, if he let go of her she'd fall apart.

He didn't know how long they stood there but finally her violent sobs were ebbing off and she was silent now, her hands still clutching his shirt.

"Is there a couch or a bed in here? A chair? Something we can sit on?"

"Yes. A few steps ahead of you. Wait." 

He felt her arm around his waist, and took three tentative steps.

"Carrie... I need to know what it is. Can't sit down without knowing."

"Oh. Sorry. Sure. A bed. Three inches away from you."

She wanted to help but wasn't sure whether he wanted help or not, and so she just kept her hand on the small of his back as he clumsily tried to feel the mattress with his arm stretched in front of him.

_You really are no caregiver Carrie. But would I want you to be someone else? To act differently? Probably not._

_It hurts. And yet it's more than I ever dared to hope for. He's changed. And yet still Quinn._

Carrie watched him for a moment, how he sat on the bed, facing more or less into her direction, searching her and yet not seeing her. But his facial expressions were still the same, just his eyes weren't giving anymore what they'd always showed before.

He was pale, dark shadows under his eyes. 

And yet still there. _Alive._

She closed the distance and stepped closer, feeling his hand reaching out for her and finding her, large and warm on her hip.

"C'mere. Please."

So she sat next to him, the surreality of the moment weighing heavy on her shoulders, wondering if she was betraying Quinn, or Otto, or both of them here, realizing she'd just been marking off days in the calendar ever since she'd received the news of Quinn's death.

She'd deal with all those questions, she had too, and with Dar, and Saul, and the agency, and Astrid, and-

"Hey. Stop that spiral. There's nothing we can do right now, or can we?"

"No. Or yes. We need to try to figure out-"

"And we will. In a few hours. But... Carrie, right now, I can't. I'll need to sleep soon and I-"

He looked away, not meeting her eyes, and it was strange because she knew he couldn't see her and still those movements and even expressions were still there, turning his head away, pursing his lips, frowning.

He was alive. Breathing, talking, sitting next to her, his hand still lightly touching the small of her back.

"Quinn. Stay with me. Please."

She took his hand and guided him to her face, made him cup her cheek and placed her hand over his, waiting for him to turn back into her direction, facing her. Then she reached out to his face, mirroring his touch, then brushing a thumb along his cheekbone, trailing his jawline with her index finger, finding his mouth, gentle touch now, barely noticeable.

He felt his heartbeat, that feeble organ, felt his blood rushing in his ears, a constant drum, noticed his fingers following their own will, feeling her face, following her lips, her nose, her eyebrows, feeling the little dent there, remembering her intense stare when she was focused or angry, smoothing over it with his thumb. Her breath was warm and damp against his wrist, he had two fingers against her temple now, feeling her pulse, a rapid clip, her silky hair, the shell of her ear, a soft earlobe, delicate skin under his fingers, her jawline and then her lower lip, fuller and softer as the upper twin. 

Her hand was still on his face, a fragile connection. Her hand was trembling. She was trembling, breathing shallow now, warm at the tips of his fingers.

Their kiss was tentative, a careful connection, conveying the pain and burden of the months and years past. When he felt she might break away he let his hand drop on her shoulder, hoping to make her stay with him, to keep that kiss going. Because if not... he couldn't think, couldn't fathom, couldn't process, just that she was here, in his arms, he felt her heart beating against his chest and it wasn't enough. 

It had never been enough. Maybe it never would.

When she finally parted her lips for him she did it with a soft sound, a silent sob, and he felt her sinking into his body, her hand clenching into his side.

She tasted sweet, a hint of peppermint, and salty, her tears.

He had locked it all away, had denied himself to go back there, endless winter, bleak, lonely and cold. And yet he hadn't ended it, had kept that little feeble flame alive, hidden from himself and everybody else. Hadn't called her, hadn't reached out to her. But had known she was still out there, somewhere.

And here she was now, nestled into the crook of his elbow, somehow they had fallen back onto the mattress, there were heaps of pillows, he was kissing her right hand now, fragile but long fingers and her narrow wrist, he could easily take her whole hand in his.

Her other hand was in his hair, holding him close and then caressing his nape and neck, and then she gently touched his chin, indicated him to move up again and closed the distance for another kiss, her mouth warm and open on his.

She was the first to ease her hands under his sweater and shirt, searching and finding warm and smooth skin, and he held his breath for a moment and then exhaled slowly and let his hand wander down her back. She was wearing a soft woolen jumper and a silky shirt beneath it which slipped through his fingers, and then there was her skin, he'd always pictured it to be white and creamy and now she felt so soft and fragile beneath his hands.

"Which colour? Tell me, please."

It was out before he had really processed it but he realized he really wanted to know.

Her hand worked her way up to his ribcage and stopped there.

"Same as yours. Dark blue. Fluffy Merino though, New York's fucking cold in winter."

"And the other... that one?"

His hand smoothed over her underwear.

"Blue too."

"Silky."

"Kind of. Don't know what it's called."

 

She felt his hand slowly moving under it, smoothing up her back, and allowed herself to just feel and relish the moment, all the pent-up emotions building up in her chest, love, loss, tenderness, fear, grief and now finally hope and yearning.

 

"I wish I could see you", he whispered, his hand slowly making its way from her back along her rips, edging the tips of his fingers under the cups of her camisole.

"I know", she stated simply. 

He felt her holding her breath but when his hand moved on and closed around her breast, full contact now, she exhaled, slowly and shaky.

"Carrie... may I? Just this?"

"You already are beneath my underwear so maybe it's a bit late to ask?", she said with a smile in her voice and he felt her nipple getting hard against his palm.

"I need you to say yes, Carrie."

He felt her hands smoothing over his back as she leant up to kiss him, and she whispered her answer before her mouth touched his, so close that he felt her breath on his skin.

"Yes, please. Quinn. Yes."

He didn't undress her. Her jumper rode up and so did his, naked skin touching when he pulled her even closer, his hand was caught between the soft fabric of her underwear and her delicate skin, and he couldn't get enough of that feeling, Carrie's skin beneath his hands, her breast in his hand, her nipple rubbing against his palm, her hands roaming up and down his back, stopping for a moment when she felt the scar of his Berlin exit wound on his back.

"It's okay, Carrie."

It was cold in the room, he felt her goosebumps where her skin was exposed and tried to hold her as close as possible to warm her.

She was nuzzling the skin under his ear, her mouth hot and soft on his neck, he could feel her hand trailing upwards along his ribs, her fingernails on his skin, his left hand somehow on the firm fabric of her jeans, closed around her buttock, while his right hand was still fondling her breast, and he lost himself in that moment.

For a precious moment they were just like any other loving couple, in bed after a long and exhausting day, finding comfort and joy in each other's presence, his condition didn't matter, neither did their past, he smelled her fragrant hair, saw the flash of blond, heard her breathing accelerating when he started kneading her breast, felt himself being hard against her crotch, felt her hips rocking against him, thought that he always had loved her and always would and that this was oblivion, was able to ignore the incandescent headache building up, and indulged in that one precious long moment where nothing else mattered, just them, finally just them.

"Quinn? Quinn? What is it? Talk to me. Quinn?"

The pain in his head was exploding, white flashes of heat and light but he didn't wanna let her go, didn't want that moment to end.

But she was gone, her hands were gone, her body was gone, but then her hand was back, on his cheek now.

"Talk to me. Which pill? Astrid brought them all from your room. I've all vials here, just tell me which one."

"Ni-"

"Nimodipedine? That's it? Just yes or no: Nimodipedine?"

"Yes."

He felt her pressing the pill against his lower lip, and then slip it in, her hand cool on his forehead, and then a sip of water.

He didn't curl on his side like he usually would to wait the pain out. He felt her hand in his and that was enough to get through it, this time it had to be enough.

Carrie looked down at his hand, he was cramping to her hand so hard that she'd lost the feeling in it, and his hand was white, wondering what she'd been thinking, to take him away from the hospital and his doctors. It had been less than a minute, from what had felt like they were going to make love this night to Quinn contorting his body in pain. But what had she been expecting? There had been a moment, just when it happened, when she'd felt she should just run away. But all of the before... and now, as he loosened his grip and brushed a thumb over her knuckles... she saw the pain wearing off, his face slowly relaxed again and she knew he'd feel bad and ashamed for her witnessing what he would feel was a display of weakness.

So she gently squeezed his hand in return.

"It's called thunderclap headache", he managed to rasp after a few minutes.

"It sure does look very painful, whatever it's called."

"It is. It's rare."

"Never one for the ordinary stuff, huh?"

He was grateful for her trying to keep the tone light, but heard the concern in her voice.

"That too. But I meant, it's rare that I get it. Not every day."

"Well, that's good to know. God, Quinn. I was fucking scared."

"I'm sorry. I really am."

"No. It's okay. Don't be."

He groaned as he tried to sit up and she hurried to press her hands to his chest to make him lie down again.

"You need anything?"

"Yes. A bathroom."

"Sorry. I..."

"Just tell me where it is. I'll go alone."

"Five steps to the right, from the bottom of the bed."

He moved slowly and Carrie forced herself to not to watch but busy herself with putting the medicine back into the bag.

It took him a while and she wondered if he just needed another moment or two for the meds to kick in but fought the urge to ask if he was okay.

The whole situation was so fucked. She'd forgotten about their dire circumstances for those few precious hours they'd shared, feeling it had been the reunion they deserved, _he_ deserved first and foremost. But without Quinn's presence the reality settled back in. _Otto_. They were in Otto's house for fuck's sake. Dar. Quinn clearly not being well. Astrid. Franny. 

"Hey."

Over her musing she'd missed him re-emerging from the bathroom. He stood next to the bed and sat down and she decided to allow herself a few more moments of _this._

So she stood up and sat next to him, gratefully curling into his side when he opened his arm for her.

"Doubts starting to creep in?"

He knew her so well, so fucking well.

"No. Not that. No doubts. Just-"

"That it's a fucking mess. I know."

Quinn reached out for her hand, the left one, and traced her wedding band. 

"Carrie, you don't have to do this. Astrid can bring me back and I'll figure out what's next for myself. But - "

"That's what you want? Astrid driving you back and me keeping - "

"No, stop, hear me out. That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying, if _you_ need time or don't want this, it's okay."

"What do you want me to want? Quinn? What?"

"Fuck, Carrie, I... "

"Cause it's a mess. Yes. And it'll be ugly and maybe we'll even have to go dark and disappear but I did everything I could to find you because - "

"Go dark?"

"Yes. There are things about Dar we need to talk about and - "

"I know. But you'd even consider to go dark?"

"One condition."

"What?"

"We're not leaving without Franny."

"God, Carrie. No. Of course not. But we're not going dark. We'll find a way out of this."

But that she was considering it, actually sounded like she was even willing to do it, that was - _something_.

 

Once again a thought reappeared at the back of his mind but he couldn't get hold of it, the events of the day were taking its toll, finally.

"Carrie, I need to sleep now. Just a few hours. And you too. And then we'll talk. But I want you to be here when I wake up. Exactly here."

And with that he pulled her close to his chest as he lay back and kissed her forehead, hesitated briefly and then sought and found her mouth again.

"It's a fucking mess, Carrie, I know. And you're married. And I'm fucked in so many ways. But what we had here tonight... what you did for me... let's try to find a way."

Carrie broke away and raised one more time, he felt her untucking the blanket and then she was back in his arms. 

When he reached for her hand he noticed the wedding band was gone.


	12. Snowflake

Seeing them together was something she knew was coming but perhaps it hit her more than she expected. 

Maybe it’s the way they’re huddled together; in sweaters and blankets, two innocent children whose only salvation is their love for one another.

It quickly reminded her of the surreal moment when they found Quinn in the gas chamber - she realized then and there, that perhaps there’s more to their story, that maybe, right in front of her eyes, she saw love in its purest form. Love that she’s seeing now.

It suddenly gets her back to their past. To thinking whether they’d actually ever slept together in such a way. For some strange reason, it makes her a little sad. 

__________

 

He’s running away, doesn’t know from whom or where, he’s in a constant movement. His body aches, his limbs hurt, he’s tired and exhausted and can’t scream even though he has a strong urge to do so. And then suddenly, he feels his heavy body - and another body huddled closely beside him, and after a few seconds of confusion he realizes it’s _her_. She’s curled up against him, he can feel her steady breathing. 

Automatically, he reaches for the blanket and hovers it over her, making sure she’s not cold. He places his hand on her crooked arm and rubs it gently, as if reassuring that she’s not having any of the nightmares he does. She stirs a little, mumbles something from her sleep and he notices how his lips are curving into a smile. _He’s happy_. Suddenly remembering the feelings that she stirred in him, the sensation of her warm body pressed against his, how she tasted when he kissed her, how….

He got used to the increased hearing sense now that he can’t see, but this can’t be just his imagination. Something has moved across the front door and he’s almost certain it’s an intruder. He quickly lets go of Carrie and swiftly, although a little clumsily, rushes from the bed to the door when he suddenly hears a hissing sound and someone touching his arm. 

He makes a swift move ready to pin the unwanted guest against the wall but the warmth of a familiar voice stops him.

"Peter, it’s me.“

"Jesus fucking Christ, Astrid.“

"I guess I’m lucky you don’t have your gun.“

He’s whispering now.

"How did you get here?“

"Well, I have my ways. And the keys.“

"Well if you want to talk to Ca…“ 

He suddenly realizes it’s probably obvious they were sleeping in the same room and it embarrasses him.

"No I…actually I wanted to talk to you.“

"Well…I really need fresh air, how about a walk? Unless….“

"Should be clear. Your friend Virgil was on the watch yesterday..just to make sure you’re alone here.“

_Fucking great, Virgil. So I guess we weren’t alone._

While they exit the house, Astrid notices Quinn’s flushed cheeks. She smiles and can’t help teasing him further.

"So…did he see something he shouldn’t?“

"…“

"Is she finally your _girlfriend_?“

He wants to reply with something snarky, mostly to stop his cheeks from turning bright red, but slips on the icy ground instead.  
But she catches him. 

"Oh, careful.“

"Can you please…“ _hold my hand_ , he wants to say, something so unusual for him, to her especially. Something she wished he _would have said_ to her, during the times they were together.

"I’m not used to snow...yet.“

They walk slowly, side by side, her hand weaved through the crook of his arm, making a completely ordinary couple taking a morning walk.

"I love the scent of winter,“ she says with a bright smile and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.

"Yeah I remember.“

"You do?“

"The freezing cold at the Baltic. The winter in Helsinki. And…Oslo…you would've stayed out for hours. I couldn’t get you to a bar. Or a bed.“

Now she feels like her cheeks are turning a different colour and she’s glad for once he can’t see that.

"Good memories…“

"The forest was so quiet we could hear our own steps, walking in the snow…like now.“

"Yeah. The arrival of spring always makes me feel uneasy…you suddenly realize the change. And the fact that you haven’t changed at all…although you wanted to.“

"Yeah.“

"And…sometimes change is the only thing that ultimately…saves you…listen, Peter…I…I’m not here because I have a new intel…I just wanted to say goodbye.“

He stops walking and lets go off her arm.

"Goodbye?“

"Remember the never ending cycle, the pattern you always wanted to break..well…I did…I know how it must sound…being the one always knowing you would be back..no matter what…“

"Did what?“

"I’m out, Peter.“

"Out? For good?“

"Hard to believe right…I’ve had my last hearing last week.“

"Astrid…“

„Maybe I've just had enough…maybe I needed to break the pattern too…“

„Are you going back to Berlin?“

"No, actually…I..I’m not…I’ve met someone.“

"Someone..?“

"One lonely night in a Berlin bar…and when he got up on stage even the beer tasted better.“

"On stage?“

"He’s a musician. I’ve got a thing for the Irish twinkle in the eye…as you know….We’ve been seeing each other for a while and he invited me to tour with his band so…who knows..Australia this year..Europe next…“

"I’ll miss you.“

"No you won’t.“

"Sounds like the time of your life…but in my case....“

"Ahh..you’ve got something good going on here… _someone_ …“

"Yeah well…not very good at that either…“

"She needs you. You’re good together. I...I can see it written all over her face...“

“Well I _can't_ …”

“For now..Here's the thing...I saw your files from the clinic and showed it to a specialist...the healing isn't impossible...think about it. See someone when you can. Please.”

She gently touches his hand and raises hers to his face.

"Take care of yourself, Peter.“

He suddenly feels Astrid’s warm lips brush against his, the old familiarity of the feeling makes his heart ache and making sure she doesn’t disappear like a snowflake, he pulls her into a firm embrace, feeling her soft hair on his cheeks, whispering to her ear - 

“You take care of yourself too.“

And then she suddenly flees away, and he takes a deep breath as if to remember the scent of her, realizing perhaps it was this all along - a scent of a sunny winter morning. 

_______

He slowly crawls back to the bed, to her warmth and as soon as he trails the mattress with his hands to find where she's sleeping, something inside him aches. Probably his heart, thinking about the life that he had lived before, the way Astrid _knew_ him, the way he loved being with her, around her. The way he knows this woman beside him. The suspicion that with Astrid, it could've been much more easier. Much less...confusing. Was it a missed chance then?

He moves closer to Carrie, feeling the warmth of her body, the magnetic force that he's always been so drawn to. Whether it was a push or pull, it's always been this way. Afraid he'll wake her he gently embraces her from behind, the one, _the only one_ , thinking about Astrid's words, he presses his chin near Carrie's ear lobe, struggling, really struggling not to say those three words now. More than ever, he's absolutely sure of what he feels right now and where he should be. 

_______

 

She's having a dreamless sleep this time, it's the first time she feels like she's gently floating on waves; not thinking, not worrying just...feeling. Feeling something inherently _good_. She's still not quite back on earth, back to start the day, back to consciousness, but she's aware of him behind her, his light stubble tickling her ear and she's shivering, partly because of that sensation, of all those memories of the night coming back to her, but also because he's a little cold. Like an open window in the morning, equally calming and discomforting. 

For a brief second she wonders whether he's been out; she's getting worried for his safety but somewhere at the back of her head those feelings swiftly transform into jealousy. Was he with... She shuts her eyes with force, even though they're still closed, as if to make those fears go away, as if to initiate a dream, as if to return into those waves. _With_ him. For a second she sees him drowning there and she catches him - trying to find his hand with hers, their fingers entwining, their hearts beating in the same rhythm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even if a day feels too long  
> You feel like you can't wait another one  
> You're slowly givin' up on everything  
> Love is gonna find you again  
> Love is gonna find you, you better be ready then  
> You been kneelin' in the dark for far too long  
> You've been waitin' for that spark, but it hasn't come  
> Well I'm callin' to you, please, get off the floor
> 
> A good heart will find you again  
> A good heart will find you, just be ready then
> 
> Glen Hansard, _Bird of Sorrow_


	13. You Have Fallen Beside Me

It was getting dark again, nightfall came early in the bleak months of the year. Of course Quinn couldn't see the change of the daylight but he felt the humidity from the lake creeping into the air, the sounds of the wood getting more muffled, the few birds who were here in winter falling silent. 

It had been an exhausting day. Emotionally. 

And all that sharing and assessing of intel, thoughts, information - honestly he wasn't used to it anymore. He hadn't used his brain a lot over the last few months and Carrie being Carrie - she'd been demanding, pushy, impatient and so right.

A bigger picture had started to form in the early afternoon, long forgotten conversations with Dar, intel from Berlin, gnawing memories of his time within ISIS, meeting Dar in Beirut, some phone calls Carrie had overheard when Otto was in New York, about a year back she'd seen him and Dar in his club, long before she'd been involved with him... the way she was now... the image was still blurry but they'd developed a working theory, starting from the question why Dar was delaying his recovery and camouflaging his whereabouts.

"You mean, why I am still alive. That's the question we should ask ourselves", he’d told Carrie about two hours ago.

"What do you mean? Quinn, this is - "

"No. Just think, Carrie. Nobody knows where I am. Who I am, even. So he could just let me disappear. In Berlin. He faked my death. But I'm still alive. So I need to know something he needs. Or must be his insurance for something."

She took his words in, he thought he'd see her giving a small measured nod if he could see.

"Insurance. Or knowledge. So maybe you don't walk into Langley just like this tomorrow."

"I'd rather confront him."

"Yeah. But not before we don't know what it's about. Let's go through it again."

And that was what they just had done again, digging up thoughts, recollecting memories, quoting conversations from memory, trying to solve the puzzle. But one piece was missing.

Quinn was sure that his last conversation with Dar was the key, when he'd told him about the mole. But back then he'd had no idea about the mole's identity, his mind had been focused on the intel from Syria and the Islamic State.

Anyhow, he needed a break now, a headache was slowly creeping in again. Not the thunderclap, that was rare, thank God it was. Just a normal tension headache, which wasn't rare but his usual companion in the afternoons.

They'd been discussing for hours now and it had felt odd. Odd but good. Surreal even.

After that precious moments in the morning Carrie hadn't been close to him again. But now he felt her raising from her chair and coming around the table, closer to where he sat. He felt her moving behind him and then he felt her hands touching his shoulders.

"I can help you with the headache. Before it gets too bad. Tension headache?"

"Yeah... But you don't have to. It's okay."

"Maybe I want to? Get that jumper off, okay?"

The thing was, he wanted her to touch him. He wanted to know what they _were_. It had been the best day in a very long time, discussing intel with Carrie, and he'd remember how it had been - working together and seeing her work. Well, not _seeing_ , maybe following how she worked.

But the best moment had been to come back inside from the early morning walk and just _be_ with her. Someone waiting for him. Not someone. Carrie.

There'd been a lot of things of higher importance and so they'd spent the day without any further progress in terms of _that_ but now he felt her small hands on his shoulders and neck, working their way through tension knots and hurting muscles. Her fingers were deft and her touch surprisingly firm and he let an involuntary groan when she started kneading a bad spot but soon he was able to just let it happen and to adjust to her touch.

She was good and for the first time he noticed he didn't feel too insecure in her presence. Just good. Accepted. Maybe even wanted?

Carrie thought that it felt good to touch him and to feel his warm skin and his pulse at a constant rhythm under her fingers.

He'd been a little reserved all day, often distant, not unfriendly or shutting her out, just not so open as he'd been at night, before his headache.

She figured he'd been out in the morning but he hadn't mentioned anything.

He leant back now, his head against her sternum and let a soft sigh and the vulnerability in that gesture made her swallow.

She'd found him, they'd found each other last night and they'd make this work, somehow they'd make it work.

Quinn felt her hair tickling his neck as she bent forward and then he felt Carrie's lips on his cheek, not even a kiss, just touching him and whispering close to his ear.

"Better now?"

"Much better. I could make amends."

"Could you? Anything specific you had in mind?"

She didn't know how he did it but a second later she was in his lap, his arm firmly wrapped around her, and he was kissing the soft skin of her neck, making her feel a pleasant shiver, while the fingers of his right hand traced the neckline of her shirt.

"More of this", his voice was hoarse, "and these", he kissed her, a tentative and tender kiss, "and then we'll see where this gets us."

He felt her shifting and then she was straddling him, her fragile back beneath his hands, he could cover almost all of its width with one hand which he now slowly moved under her shirt and then up her spine as she leant in to kiss him, her hands framing his face.

It was a long kiss, starting slow and probing, but soon deepening, when she parted her lips for him and their tongues met and explored. They broke the kiss for a short moment to manage the feat of getting rid of her shirt without losing skin contact, her bra went right after, his shirt too, and then his hands were feeling her skin again, her back, her arms, her shoulders, her ass through the denim, the softness of her breasts against his chest, feeling her nipples getting hard while they kept that kiss going. She grazed her teeth along his lower lip when his hand covered her breast and when he gently started kneading it she whispered against his mouth.

"Quinn. Please. Quinn."

He didn't know what she was asking for but this was too good to stop so his mouth wandered away from hers, he left a trail of soft kisses, used his hand around the back of her nape to bend her head and make her arch her back and closed his lips around her nipple, kissing, licking and sucking it.

He was gentle first but encouraged by her response he tried to suck harder and the whimper she made blew his mind so he did it again, adding a moment of grating teeth followed by a soothing lap of his tongue. She tasted and smelled so good. He'd stopped imagining sex with her a while ago, just sometimes in his dreams it still happened, but he'd always wanted to hold her and make her feel what she felt now, had always wished to be the one to please her and make her feel loved and wanted. 

_I love you Carrie. I never stopped loving you. And I want you_.

He wished he could just scoop her up and carry her to the bedroom but that was beyond his limits.

But when he felt her fumbling for his belt, her mouth on his now again, he covered her hand with his and stopped her for a short moment.

"Let's go to the bedroom. I want us to take our time. I want to feel all of you."

She laughed, it was a beautiful sound, he'd never heard it before, full of mirth and life.

When she stood, he wrapped his arm around her chest from behind and kissed her ear and nuzzled her neck while she guided him out of the large lounge room and through the small hallway to the bedroom.

Once they were there she wiggled and turned again, her hair tickling under his chin, and then she kissed the corner of his mouth, just a short kiss, he felt her lips curling into a smile and pulled her closer again and this time the kiss was real.

Quinn felt her breasts pressed against his chest as their kiss deepened and he slowly moved her backwards until she stood right in front of the bed and pulled him with her when she slowly sank back.

He settled next to her, his leg covering hers, his hand slowly caressing her waist and then her rib cage. They kissed again, mouth open now, her tongue meeting his, her hands slowly wandering over his back.

If there was one single moment in his life he'd choose to be allowed to ever see again it would be this very moment. He'd give everything to see her face, to look into her eyes and to see what hopefully was evident there. 

The same longing, the same love, the same fear.

"My eyes are closed too", Carrie whispered when her hands found his face again and she traced his lower lip with her thumb, "the room's dark, I didn't turn on the lights."

They took their time, after the longest wait there wasn't any urgency now.

When he finally helped her to drag off her jeans he felt her legs kicking and her hands fumbling for his belt, and then she laughed and pulled his pants away and suddenly lay on top of him, all of her body pressed against him.

Soon later her underwear was gone, his boxers too, and her hand was trailing down his torso, just a very light touch, soft and elusive, her leg locked around his, when he gently pushed her to lie on her back.

He couldn't see her, but he'd feel and explore every single inch of her body now.

Her soft skin, her small breasts under his hands, sucking her nipples to make her gasp, kneading her gorgeous ass, marking the delicate skin just above her clavicle, smoothing his hands along her waist, pulling her on top of him again, more kisses, her breathing accelerated, he felt himself pressing against her soft and wet entrance, but he wanted this to last, not yet, so he turned, she was beneath him again, kisses deepening, his hand between her thighs, his cock pressing against her hip, she opened her legs for him, and when he slipped a finger inside her, he thought her strangled sound could be both a sob or a moan.

But she arched her hips when he hesitated for a moment, a whispered "Quinn. Please", her voice thick, and he moved his finger inside her, deeper now, and then a second one, one of her hands at the back of his in his hair now, pulling him in for a kiss.

He stilled for a moment - Carrie in his arms, writhing under his touch, kissing her, feeling her heartbeat against his chest - before he moved his fingers deeper and flitted his thumb over her clit, rewarded by Carrie's breath hitching. So he did it again, building a cadence she seemed to like, feeling her clenching around his fingers, hearing her soft moans, feeling her increasing wetness.

When he withdrew his fingers she pulled him close, her hands roaming over his back, he felt her moving her legs, adjusting her position, opening for him.

Carrie looked at him in the dim light, the room was dark, just illuminated by a few rays of light falling from the hallway through the door they'd left ajar, and then she closed her eyes too and gave herself to him and his love making.

She was there before him, slow, long thrusts and deep kisses, Quinn gently biting her lower lip and then, when he sensed she was close, a few faster strokes. She was writhing and shivering beneath him, her soft whimpers were blowing his mind, and when she whispered his name, her mouth on his, using her ankles crossed over his ass to bury him deep inside her, he was gone too, falling, moaning her name, nothing else made sense.

Carrie felt his warmth spreading deep inside her, each of his thrusts releasing another wave for her, and all she could do was holding onto him, arms and legs around him, being carried away, just him, finally, alive, here, now, with her.

He stayed with her, inside her, his body covering hers, he'd carefully lowered himself, she liked the warm and heavy feeling, feeling his chest moving with his heavy breathing, trailing her hand along his spine, Quinn breathing right next to her ear, one of his hands tangled into her hair, her legs still wrapped around him.

They didn't speak.

After a long while he shifted, she released him from her crossed legs, feeling a moment of loss when he pulled out of her, but then he was beside her and enveloped her in his arms again, holding her as tight as possible.

Carrie lifted her chin and met him for a kiss, gentle and tender now, languorous, while she stroked his back.

Soon after he pulled a blanket up with one arm.

"What's gonna happen now?" Carrie whispered. 

"We'll sleep. And tomorrow... we'll see... I still think we should go to DC. But let's not discuss this now. Please."

He felt her nodding. She understood how much he wanted this night to be their time, not tainted by any of the mayhem around them, not wanting to let darkness prevail, not this time.

So she snuggled closer, kissed him again and whispered something close to his ear he couldn't process right away.

It took him a long moment. And then he took a deep breath, his fingers curling into her shoulder, and buried his face in the gentle curve of her neck.

"I love you too. I always did. Always will."

He fell into a light sleep soon after, wrapped around her, as much skin contact as possible, and Carrie felt herself drifting away too, not allowing herself to let her mind wander.

They made love again in the middle of the night. Quinn woke up with a start, the wind was stronger now, and the branches of the pines knocked against the roof. But Carrie turned around, her hands touching his face, her body warm and promising pressed against his and he pulled her in for a kiss, whispering against her lips how much he wanted her.

Afterwards they both fell in a deep and peaceful sleep, this time a few hours of blissful oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Beneath my hands**
> 
> Beneath my hands  
> your small breasts  
> are the upturned bellies  
> of breathing fallen sparrows. 
> 
> Wherever you move  
> I hear the sounds of closing wings  
> of falling wings. 
> 
> I am speechless  
> because you have fallen beside me  
> because your eyelashes  
> are the spines of tiny fragile animals. 
> 
> I dread the time  
> when your mouth  
> begins to call me hunter. 
> 
> When you call me close  
> to tell me  
> your body is not beautiful  
> I want to summon  
> the eyes and hidden mouths  
> of stone and light and water  
> to testify against you. 
> 
> I want them  
> to surrender before you  
> the trembling rhyme of your face  
> from their deep caskets. 
> 
> When you call me close  
> to tell me  
> your body is not beautiful  
> I want my body and my hands  
> to be pools  
> for your looking and laughing. 
> 
> Leonard Cohen


End file.
